Dempsey & Makepeace: Present Imperfect
by Krato
Summary: Having at last admitted to having deep feelings for each other and with the injuries Dempsey incurred during their Cornwall investigation healing nicely, D&M are set to embark upon a new stage in their relationship. But Dempsey has managed to develop a few issues along the way and Harry has picked up a lame dog from her past. NB. This story follows on from Art For Art's Sake.
1. Past Tense

**Just managed to get this first chapter posted before I go on holiday to Cornwall tomorrow!**

 **Present Imperfect won't be anywhere near as long as Art For Art's Sake and although I don't really know where I'm going with it yet, I can confirm that they will definitely 'get it together' in this one and sooner rather than later which I'm sure will be a relief to all concerned.**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed AFAS. I really, really appreciate your feedback and hope you'll continue here.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

She hadn't said a word.

Lunch with her best friend had been lovely as always, especially as it had been so long since they'd last got together, almost a month in fact and although she felt horribly guilty for keeping secrets, she just wasn't ready.

He'd come up in conversation of course. Angela had been privy to the undercover role in Cornwall and even assisted with the practicalities of handling the fake pregnancy vest in the run-up. She'd known the set up at the cottage and also _thought_ she knew the mild animosity Harry harboured for her partner.

As she strolled happily to Covent Garden tube station, she wondered if Angela suspected something had changed between her and Dempsey. She had been fully aware that her usual jibes and moans relating to him had been lacking from their chatter and the one or two derogatory comments she had come up with had been glazed with fondness. Funny how hard it was to voice someone's faults when you were in love with them.

That last thought reverberated rather shockingly around her head for the next few steps. How on earth had she managed to let something like that happen? At one time, she had borne an active dislike of him. Everything about him had seemed wrong, at least in her eyes. Too loud; too crass, too opinionated and definitely too American. But all of those things were simply part and parcel of what attracted her to him now.

The last three weeks or so had been pure madness in that respect. She had found herself constantly reining in her feelings for him. Despite everything, she still had a fear that maybe those feelings weren't being reciprocated in quite the same way. She had no reason whatsoever to doubt him, it was just that, ironically, knowing him largely as her colleague over the last three years she had been aware of his brand of 'gameplay' when it came to setting his sights on a woman. He could be quite calculating, employing a strategy when snaring his latest sex interest and the idea that he might be working to any kind of plan with her too made her go cold all over. When she was with him there wasn't an issue; she never doubted him for a moment but just very occasionally, when she was alone and missing him (quite ridiculous when they hardly ever went 24 hours without seeing each other), there was sometimes that twinge of uncertainly.

They had agreed there was no point in making their relationship public knowledge. For one thing, the SI-10 team would doubtless beleaguer them with irksome mockery and for another, there was the very real danger of receiving Spikings' disapproval. They had discussed it and had counted at least one half of the million reasons they suspected their boss would come up with for not breaking the boundaries of their working partnership.

There was also the personal side. Being what might be viewed as a rather unlikely couple, there would be a few raised eyebrows no doubt. It made sense to get used to the idea themselves first, to give themselves time together to see if they stood a chance of working out before they went spreading the news. Dempsey had joked that she'd drawn the short straw as far as suitability went. He on the other hand would be seen as one lucky son-of-a-bitch. He'd also tentatively suggested that her family may take a dim view of her choice of boyfriend which had rather pleased Harry because it implied that for one thing, he cared what they thought and for another, he was planning on involving himself with her family.

There was that 'end of Summer' feel in the air as she negotiated her way down the busy street, side stepping a fellow pedestrian headed in the opposite direction who clearly had no intention of moving herself. Having narrowly avoided a shoulder barging, Harry took stock of what now lay ahead as she carried on. Coming up on the left, sitting in an unused and dilapidated doorway was a down and out type, at least, that was her first impression but as her curious gaze took in the finer detail, she realised his shabby attire was actually of extremely high quality. Both the trousers and shirt were of an excellent cut though grubby and worn and his rather battered tan leather shoes were, if she wasn't very much mistaken, made by Loake. This man was no junkie or wino, just somebody fallen on awfully hard times.

But in the few moments it took to process this information, her eyes had travelled upwards and it was with complete shock that she registered the man's face. As their eyes met, she was literally only two feet away.

"Hello!"

It was an automatic response to meeting someone she knew but further words dried on her tongue.

His sandy blonde hair, always so well cut and tidy before had grown straggly and unkempt, falling to below his ears and his lower face was obscured by the dark blond beard which could easily be a week's growth.

"Hello," he mumbled back, barely able to keep eye contact.

Harry could see it was painfully embarrassing for him and she felt some of that embarrassment too. How on earth had it come to this?

"How are you?"

She mentally kicked herself. What a stupid question. She could see perfectly well how he was.

"As you can see, I've been better."

He managed an apologetic sort of smile.

"Sorry, yes. Obviously," she stumbled.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Harry just dived in with the all-encompassing question, "What happened?"

He cleared his throat, a very specific sound and she instantly recalled the familiarity of it.

"It's a long story as they say."

"I'm quite sure it must be!"

But this was getting more uncomfortable by the second, he sitting on the pavement and she looking down at him.

"Look, shall we go and get a coffee somewhere…?"

' _and you can fill me in… we can have a chat… you can tell me all about it'_

All of these little stock phrases would just sound so trite and vastly inappropriate in the face of his situation.

Again, the small, embarrassed cough as he searched for a suitable response.

"I have to meet someone shortly… fifteen minutes… otherwise…" He petered out, no further explanation necessary, especially as to Harry's mind it was simply an excuse. "Thanks anyway."

"Okay, another time."

A thought suddenly struck her and she shoved her hand into her shoulder bag, clumsily fishing around inside. "I've got a card somewhere."

At last she came up with her purse and extracted one of her cards, the one she gave to tradesmen and other such acquaintances. It bore her name, home address and telephone number. She also slipped a twenty pound note out and surreptitiously folded it in two, placing it behind the card and handing them both over. For one terrible moment she thought she'd see her hand shaking, but no, miraculously she realised, she probably appeared quite calm to him. One of the benefits of having that 'ice queen' facade Dempsey liked to joke about.

"That's my home number. If I'm not in, leave me a message on the answer machine, okay? I'd be great to catch up." She grimaced – another one of those horrid little phrases. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Alright so it had been something of a relief when he'd declined the offer of coffee. Seeing him like this had been a shock, one she was having a hard time getting her head around.

He nodded. "Thanks," he answered quietly, seeing the twenty pounds. "You're very kind."

"I don't think it's really a question of kindness," Harry said, concern deepening her voice. She adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder as she prepared to leave. "You will call, won't you? I'd like to help if I can," she added, hoping that didn't sound too condescending.

"You always were the caring one, Harriet," he smiled gratefully.

He watched her walk away, his head and heart a tumultuous mix of emotions. He so desperately needed someone normal to talk to, someone who knew him and understood him, a friendly ear and a kind word or two of sympathy and comfort. But then, at the same time, it was those very requirements that would bring with them the burden of shame, highlighting the depths to which he had sunk. No, he'd done the right thing in not reaching out to her, after all, what could she possibly do to get him out of this mess that wouldn't result in huge disruption to her own life?

He looked at his watch, a cheap, digital thing he'd bought several weeks ago after he'd pawned his Ernest Borel in order to pay for B&B accommodation. A couple of hundred he'd got for it. Ridiculous! But he really hadn't had a lot of choice, had he?

He should be making tracks. The café was only across the road but he couldn't risk being late.

Reaching behind him, he dragged forward the backpack and unzipped one side. Carefully, he tucked the card and the bank note into a small internal mesh pocket and re-zipped it.

"Good afternoon, Mister Makepeace, sir."

His heart sank as he recognised the voice and looked up to be met with the sneering grin of 'Kitch' who was at that moment executing a deep, mocking bow.

"Hello, Kitch," he said evenly, "I thought we were supposed to be meeting in the café."

"You're quite right, Mister Makepeace, sir, we was but I was a bit early and when I seen yer talkin' to that dolly bird, I got a bit interested like." He gave him a knowing look. "What she give yer then, 'sides a stiffy that is?" The leering wink added to those cheap, disrespectful words brought up a wave of disgust that was difficult to quell. But he kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give him any ammunition.

"That's my business," he told him bravely.

"Come on now, Mister Makepeace, sir. You know it don't work like that. What you got?"

He shuffled a bit closer, jamming his hands into his pockets and looming over him with a casually menacing air. He was probably only a year or two younger but he dressed like a teenager in his bright blue tracksuit bottoms and pastel yellow and green polo shirt. His Adidas trainers had seen better days, probably because it was the only footwear he seemed to possess.

Makepeace was now faced with a dilemma; hand over the money or give him the business card. That cash would be more than enough to feed him for a week but could he in all conscience offer up Harriet's personal details to this moronic thug?

Kitch was still smiling but he wouldn't be for much longer if he failed to come up with the goods.

He made his decision and took out the twenty pound note. The forlorn hopes that Kitch might let him keep it were dashed when the money was plucked swiftly from his fingers.

"Right then, Mister Makepeace, sir, let's forget the caff shall we? Looks like the drinks are on me. An' then I want to 'ear exactly 'ow that conversation went. Nobody drops a score without a bloody good reason so unless you've come up with the world's greatest sob story, it's my guess you know that bit o' skirt quite well."


	2. Ninety-Five Percent And Counting

**Chapter 2**

"How was lunch?" Dempsey enquired as Harry slipped into her seat across from him.

"Good, thanks." She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. It was very nice."

Dempsey was curious, the reply not having a particularly natural flow.

"An' how was Ange? She still got the hots for me?"

They had met up quite a few times at the various venues he had attended with Harry over the months and it was now a given that Angela would flirt outrageously with him and that Dempsey would reciprocate. There was nothing in it or at least that was what he assumed because she'd never come onto him on the odd occasion when they'd been alone together.

"Of course she has," Harry answered.

Dempsey waited.

Was that it? No clever put down? Not even a hint of irony?

He watched her take up the folder she had been working with before she broke for lunch.

"We've got Lionel Ashbon at three, haven't we? Hope he's in better mood this time. He wasn't exactly full of the joys last week, was he?"

He saw her cheeks lift as her mouth contorted into an unwilling smile.

"Very creative," she murmured. "No need to ask how you spent your lunchtime."

Dempsey had even impressed himself with his level of artistry. Using nothing but a sheet of white A4 sized paper and a pair of scissors, he had created a Winter wonderland and located it right there on the inside front cover of the folder – well, a quite intricately designed cut-out paper snowflake anyway.

Over the last three and a half weeks he had managed to come up with a seemingly endless supply of Christmas related entertainment. It had all been kept very subtle of course so as not to draw too much attention but the odd thing had been noticed and commented on. The whistling, singing and humming of festive tunes was the most obvious and it had become accepted that it was to ' _rattle Makepeace's cage_ ' because, as Dempsey had fabricated with ease, 'they had had a weird conversation in Cornwall about her dislike of Christmas music being played too early in London department stores'.

But Frank had spotted the shiny bauble hanging beneath her desk though and Chas had smelt the cinnamon in her coffee.

The scented pine tree air freshener in her car had been a wonderfully cheesy touch, equalled only by The Choir of St Martin-in-the-Fields, 'The Joys of Christmas' tape he smuggled into the cassette deck. Harry had been driving alone when she decided a bit of Simon & Garfunkel might be in order but instead of picking up from half way through 'Cecelia' which was where she was sure it had left off, she was treated to 'O Tannenbaum' instead. It had made her smile for a good five minutes.

Last week, Fry had pointed out the tiny flecks of silver glitter adhering to Harry's cheek and she'd passed it off as being make-up she'd used at the weekend which had spilt in her handbag and got transferred to her face. The real culprit, although still in her handbag was actually a folded sheet of paper bearing the words, 'TeN moRe SLeePs Til ChrisTMas' in Dempsey's weird Studley caps handwriting. He'd then drawn a box around it with a glue stick and sprinkled glitter over the top. She knew she'd be finding bits of that glitter for months to come.

Still, ten more sleeps was quite a noteworthy prospect and worth commemorating. If only Doctor Roper had realised the stir of sexual excitement her words had caused when she had suggested that his next appointment with her should be the last time she needed to see him and after that he could resume normal duties. It seemed a bit strange, having an actual date set for their out of hours activities. It could be argued that it was taking away the spontaneity but at this stage, the anticipation was almost overwhelming and therefore spontaneity was a completely redundant concept.

Of course, they both knew that Doctor Roper's final word on Friday was simply a formality. Dempsey's shoulder was, according to him, ninety-five percent recovered and there was nothing except their own verbal agreement stopping them from jumping into bed right now. But no, the date had been set and Christmas Day this year fell on Saturday, September 14th.

Yes it was amusing but there was a serious side to it all too. The level of effort he was putting into this whole thing was quite touching; he wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't important to him, if he didn't think what they were about to embark upon was a significant enough cause.

He was having fun and wanted Harry to as well.

And now with only three more sleeps ahead of them, Harry had a surprise or two of her own planned.

"Where'd you eat?" Dempsey flipped back to the original topic, wondering if it was just his imagination or if there really was something amiss with Harry.

"That little Italian in Covent Garden, Gianelli's. They do a fabulous Tiramisu there but fortunately for my waistline, there wasn't time for dessert."

If she'd gone for that coffee, she would have been really late back and would definitely have had to come up with some explanation.

Yeah, I know the one you mean. I never been. It's good?"

Harry busied herself flicking through the file. "It's fine for a lunchtime. Nothing flashy. Now are we going to do a bit of digging on this sleeping partner of Ashbon's? I'd quite like to be able to put dear Lionel on the spot."

She would tell him about her impromptu encounter in Covent Garden, only not here, not at work. She really didn't want to get into that sort of discussion with others present. Well, if she was honest, she didn't want to talk about it at all, she'd much rather just put it out of her mind only Dempsey had this annoying knack of reading her like a book and she knew he'd picked up on her discomfiture. She found it disconcerting at times. Being a naturally private person, she had always found it easy to keep her emotions hidden from view. The only person who had ever known, with any degree of accuracy what she was feeling when she chose to put the shutters down was her father. She had always attributed that to some sort of parental bond though. So what was it with Dempsey?

He was looking at her from across his desk, looking _into_ her it felt like. And then he switched off and let her go, moving his attention on to their current embezzlement case instead.

* * *

 **hanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Love everybody guessing who he is and what's going on. Sorry this is only a short chapter but it's just the way it went. I'm probably 2/3 through writing chapter 3 and it's flowing quite well at the moment so hopefully won't take too long to finish... famous last words. I'm such an incredibly slow scribbler, I infuriate myself!**


	3. All That Glisters

**Chapter 3**

His blood pressure was up and Doctor Roper didn't like it.

Neither did Dempsey although he wasn't surprised, given the tension of the last few days, Harry's was probably up too. He even told the doctor as much, not connecting his partner to his frustrations of course but letting her know what was on the line in the hopes of deflecting further medical examination through good old fashioned embarrassment. It didn't work. She just told him her remit was to check his fitness for a return to full duties within his working environment and that his duties in the bedroom department should be decided between him and his lady friend.

When she asked, on a scale of one to ten, how he would rate the level of pain he had been experiencing in the last few days, he decided to play it safe and told her a four.

"Really?" she had asked, obviously mildly surprised.

He'd shrugged. "Maybe I got a low pain threshold.

It bought him a new prescription but cost ten minutes worth of persuasion tactics as he did everything in his power to convince the doctor that he was fit enough to be released from her care. In the end, she agreed to let him go back to SI-10 in his full working capacity on the proviso that he made another appointment to see her in two weeks' time.

He could handle that. Two weeks was enough for him and Harry to get on an even keel and maybe by that point he'd have things under control again.

Harry accepted the news with a certain degree of coolness which both infuriated and intrigued him. Was she nervous now they'd got the green light? Did she have a belly full of butterflies and was her head full of self-doubt? He figured that was probably the case 'cause that was how he was feeling. It had suddenly got real.

Game on.

* * *

So at 7:20pm on the Saturday evening, Dempsey found himself sitting in his car outside Harry's house, nervously drumming his hands on the steering wheel and debating with himself whether or not ten minutes early look too eager.

Nah, this was stupid. He'd been ten minutes early only last week and had barely given it a second thought. Week before he'd been ten minutes late, stuck in the aftermath of an RTA. Lucky he'd had a good excuse 'cause Harry didn't approve of tardiness.

Nine minutes. Screw it, he was goin' in.

Picking up the box lying on the passenger seat, he locked the car and walked across the driveway up to the front door.

Was the jacket and tie too much? Wasn't like this was a proper dinner date, they weren't going out on the town. Harry was cooking them a meal, maybe with candles and a good bottle of wine.

Should he have brought wine? Shit, he should definitely have brought wine.

He checked his watch again, even though he already knew it was 7:23pm. There wasn't time to get to the liquor store, chose something and make it back here by 7:30pm.

The drapes were closed he noticed; not unusual in itself as it was dark pretty early these days but something looked different, the light that glowed from within seemed different. Maybe he hadn't been too wide of the mark when he'd guessed at candles.

Nice.

He liked that.

He brushed a hand over the whitewashed stone pillar as he mounted the shallow steps.

Dempsey got as far as the fourth step before he stopped in his tracks, eyes drawn to the lintel above the doorway. He grinned the broadest grin, his heart missing a beat. She'd tacked a sprig of mistletoe up there, well obviously it couldn't be real, least he didn't think so, not this time of year but never-the-less, it was mistletoe.

"That's real cute, Makepeace," he chuckled as he skipped up the rest of the steps and raised the black door knocker to rap out the silly, convoluted secret knock he had devised months ago to let her know it was him. She said it was ridiculous but she always answered her door to him with that fabulous laughing smile of hers.

He tucked the box under his arm and quickly adjusted his tie which now felt quite constrictive.

The big white timber door opened and suddenly all his senses were thrown into turmoil as he tried to take in everything that was being presented to him.

There was Harry, looking a million dollars in some silky little back number he'd not seen before, a cool, sexy smile on her beautiful face. Behind her he could see the bannister had been festooned with a garland of holly and ivy, intertwined with twinkling lights and to one side was a floor-standing Christmas tree. A real beauty! Seven feet tall if it was an inch and decorated with golden baubles, tinsel and more twinkly lights. Nat King Cole was singing The Christmas Song in the background, the music coming from the living room and floating side by side with those dulcet notes came the warm, homey smell of a traditional roast dinner.

And as he was still taking all of this in, Harry stepped forward over the threshold to put her hands lightly upon his shoulders.

"Hello, you," she said softly.

There was no time to react to any of it before she reached up and placed her lips on his to kiss him with a tender passion.

"Happy Christmas," Harry smiled.

Dempsey laughed, throwing an arm about her waist as they entered the house, the hand holding the box pointing back at the mistletoe.

"Nice touch!" He looked about the hall entrance, marvelling at the décor. "I mean… wow! This is all just terrific! So this is the reason you didn't want us to spend the day together today. You had me worried, Princess, I gotta say."

"Just my contribution to the cause. Why should only you get to be annoying on a daily basis? I decided it was my turn."

Dempsey dropped the box onto the hall table as Harry lead him through to where Nat King Cole was crooning through the speakers.

"If this was annoying, you'd have me beat hands down, only it ain't… it's beautiful."

He turned to her, gathering her into his arms and ignoring the tinsel draped picture frames and 3D foil decorations that hung from the ceiling.

"But none of it's as beautiful as you, babe. You look so hot, I just wanna unwrap you right now…"

He could see she was about to reprimand him and continued, "but there's somethin' else around here smells good enough to eat so I'm prepared to wait a while."

"How very gallant of you," she said sulkily.

He brought his mouth up close to her ear. "Course, if you was to offer me a little appetiser…"

"I can offer you a Scotch."

His hands were resting on her bottom but he wasn't going anywhere with it – not yet. They had all night and after all, when you'd waited this long, the last few hours needed to be savoured.

"Guess I should accept graciously, huh?"

"Very wise," she whispered. Then moving him firmly back she told him, "And while you're about it, you can fix me a Gin and tonic. I need to check on dinner."

He watched intently as she sashayed away to the kitchen in a pair or strappy red heels the exact same shade as her lipstick. Now what was it about red lipstick? He smiled to himself as he ran the back of his hand against his mouth to remove the traces of it from his own lips.

Dempsey made their drinks to the accompaniment of Ella Fitzgerald singing Sleigh Ride. The jazzy, upbeat tempo had an elevating effect on his already buoyant mood and within minutes he was tossing ice into their drinks from the ice bucket like a pro. Even though it was just the two of them, Harry had put a small sectioned dish of sliced lemon, Maraschino cherries and olives onto the tray beside the bucket.

Jeez, this girl knew how to do things!

He added lemon to her G&T (with the tiny pair of tongs provided) and went in search of 'the girl' in question.

"Lucky for you I already got my hands full."

She was bent over, peering into the oven at a sizeable roasted turkey.

"That's one helluva bird you got there!"

She reached inside wearing a pair of oven gloves and slid the roasting tray out. "Looks like it's done."

She glanced over her shoulder at Dempsey. "Ooh, lovely." Standing up straight, Harry paused a moment to allow Dempsey to tilt the glass for her to drink.

"Where'd you get turkey from this time of the year?"

"I have my ways."

I'll just bet you do."

Harry smiled as she covered the turkey over with foil whilst it rested. "I can't remember whether you've met Bernard or not."

"Bernard?"

"The gamekeeper at Winfield Hall."

She took her glass from him and had a fortifying mouthful.

"Don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"Well anyway, Bernard's cousin, Jack knows a chap who owns a turkey farm in Essex. He sorted it out for me and had it sent up. It's a bit on the large side, isn't it?"

"I make a mean turkey club sandwich," he grinned.

"I think you'll be making them until it really is Christmas."

He sipped on his Scotch as he surveyed the kitchen, wondering about the rest of the food. There was only one solitary pan on the stove but one of those pressure cooker things his mom had was by the sink along with a stack of dishes and utensils. She'd been busy. She must already have taken everything through to the dining room.

"Want me to do anything?"

Her eyes flirted with his as she drew close to him. "I think we should at least finish these drinks first, James." A red painted finger nail of the hand holding her glass dragged down the length of his tie as she walked past him to the kitchen door. "Don't you?"

"You got it all under control, dontcha?" Dempsey growled.

He followed her back out after a hefty slug of Scotch. Boy, she looked good tonight. She looked like she could be bad. It wasn't just what she was wearing although God knew she was dressed to kill him, it was more like there was a glow about her, an aura. Tonight was the night and she was on a high.

He sat down beside her on one of the couches, hunched forward, his glass captured in both hands as he gazed about him.

"You sure put some effort into this one."

A large bowl of fir cones resided on the hearth and above on the mantelpiece lay a bough of fake holly. Dempsey then laughed out loud, seeing the two red, green and white knitted Christmas stockings hanging either end of the fireplace.

"They ain't the kind of stockings I'd of chosen but I'd still like to see you in 'em later."

"Would you now? I can always rely on you to lower the tone, can't I?"

The Ella track had slipped seamlessly into Dean Martin's rendition of Winter Wonderland.

"It's just what you do to me. Not my fault, Princess."

He sat back and let his head rest on the back of the sofa, eyes closed for a moment as he let the music and alcohol wash over him.

"This is great."

Harry watched the grin spread slowly across Dempsey's face, the small gap in his front teeth clearly visible. She rather liked that little imperfection of his – she only saw it when he was especially happy.

His eyes opened and he was looking directly into hers. It was pleasantly disarming.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," she teasingly accused.

"Why wouldn't I be? It's Christmas and I'm spendin' it with the most beautiful, sexy woman I know."

He reached out and took up her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the knuckles. "I'm a lucky guy."

"I probably haven't done so badly myself," she conceded.

"Probably?"

"Yes, probably."

"Oh, I get it, you're gonna reserve judgement 'til the morning, maybe?"

Harry smirked. "It was simply a grudging admission not a slight on your… potential prowess."

They were edging dangerously close to the bedroom.

"Hey, at least I got potential. Feels like you're open to persuasion."

He squeezed her hand and polished off the Scotch, smiling into the glass as the ice chinked.

Harry sipped at her Gin, feeling as tipsy as though this were her third. "Well with a reputation like yours, surely a girl would be an absolute fool not to be battering down your door." The sarcasm dripped heavily and Dempsey looked suddenly uncomfortable.

"Yeah, about that."

She slid her hand away from his and sat back, facing him sideways on, her elbow resting on the back of the sofa and her head against her hand. "Do I really need to know?" she asked, so casually and with such an impish smile that it was impossible to know she was quailing at the thought of what his next words might be.

But the way she had withdrawn herself from him gave Dempsey an unconscious heads up.

"You know I ain't no saint."

"I do," she acknowledged placidly.

"I've played the field…"

"Several stadiums worth I'd have thought." The forced laughter sounded exactly that – forced. She didn't want to hear any of what he had to say on this subject.

"An' I know it ain't nice… what I mean is, you don't wanna know 'bout any of that stuff. It's in the past, right?"

Harry was desperate to swallow but fearful if she did, he'd hear the dry gulp in her constricted throat. Instead, she finished her drink and regarded him with a neutral expression. "Fine by me."

He was gaining a little enthusiasm now. "Yeah. Okay. Right. So with that in mind, I thought we could… I could," he corrected himself, "wipe the slate clean, or least ways start with a clean slate."

He was on his feet, dumping his glass on the coffee table beside the large green candle burning brightly within its' festive pottery container.

"Got you somethin'."

Dempsey disappeared through to the hallway and snatched up the box he had dropped on the hall table earlier.

Harry had of course noticed it but realised the handing over of it would be sometime later at an appropriate moment. This, apparently, was that moment.

"Here."

He held it out to her. It was a thin, rectangular box, roughly the size of a shirt box and it was wrapped in glossy red paper with a gold bow tied around it.

"Thank you," Harry beamed, guessing immediately in her mind what it contained. It weighed next to nothing and to Harry, it was obviously going to be lingerie of some description. The 'clean slate' comment didn't quite fit with it though but she put that to one side as she sat with the box on her knee to untie the ribbon.

"You seem a little bit on edge, James," she laughed. "Worried you've got the wrong size?"

For a moment, Dempsey appeared nonplussed. "Ahh, no," he scratched at the back of his head nervously, "it's not… you can't wear it, babe. It… umm," an uncomfortable shift against the arm of the sofa, "it's maybe not the kind of gift you think it is. Fact, it ain't even what you'd call a real gift."

He squooshed his lips with his fingers, his smile wiped away.

"It certainly looks like a real gift. I'm intrigued now."

If whatever it was in this box was making him so nervous then why give it to her in the first place? She definitely was curious though. She pulled the ribbon off and tore open the paper from one end, eyeing Dempsey as she did so.

Inside, she found folded white tissue paper and opened it out. There was just a single sheet of paper lying there.

Her eyes briefly scanned the typewritten text and then she looked up at Dempsey.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" Harry thrust the sheet towards him. "Are you expecting a pat on the back and a handshake?"

She stood up, distancing herself from him as she struggled to contain her rising anger.

"C'mmon, Princess, I did this for us…" Dempsey said in alarm as he stooped to retrieve the document that had drifted to the carpet.

"Well I'm really not impressed," she grated. "In fact, I think you should just go."


	4. A Better Man

**Thanks once again for the reviews. I just loved some of you trying to guess what was on the sheet of paper.**

 **Sophiesworld2 - you freak me out a bit. You know far too much of what's going on in my head. We're obviously two minds with but a single brain cell ;-D Can't wait to hear if you were right about 'the paperwork'.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

"I mean it. I want you to go," Harry told him icily.

Dempsey laughed uncertainly. "This is stupid. You're not serious. **"**

"Those very words sprang to my mind too. You really have no idea how offensive that is, do you?" she fumed.

Dempsey looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand, his eyes swimming over the typewritten words he'd read over so many times that he had unintentionally memorised them.

"No! As a matter of fact, I don't. You don't think somethin' like this is important?"

The printed note paper was headed, 'Chelsea and Westminster Hospital NHS Foundation Trust', sub-heading, 'Sexual Health Services'. There followed a date from last week, a reference number and the subject header, 'HIV Screening Test Certificate'.

 _This is to certify that:_ _ **James Dempsey**_ _has been screened for HIV antibody using:_ _ **Enzyme Linked Immunosorbent Assay (ELISA)**_ _and was found:_ _ **Negative**_ _, as at:_ _ **08/09/87**_

It was signed and rubber stamped.

Dempsey figured that was cause for celebration but apparently Harry didn't.

"I think you'd find AIDS a lot more offensive, Princess," said Dempsey, annoyance edging into his voice.

She pushed him away violently with both arms outstretched.

"Just get out! I really can't believe you sometimes."

He stumbled back, caught off guard by her fierce reaction.

"What's the matter with you? I took this test for us, 'cause I want us to start out right."

She pushed at him again, forcing him backwards.

"Go, Dempsey!"

"D'you know how embarrassing it was to sit in an HIV clinic waiting room, huh? With the junkies and the drop-outs? The assorted freaks and weirdos?"

"And whose fault was it that you found yourself there in the first place?"

Half shoving, half escorting him, she had managed to manoeuvre Dempsey into the entrance hall where she was opening the front door with one hand and keeping him at arm's length with steepled fingers as though holding off a dirty, wet shaggy dog.

"I know it! But it's all changed now. I wanna be with you, babe an'…"

Harry had the door open now.

"You're treating it all like it's some kind of joke, wrapping it up in pretty paper and tying a ribbon around it, like you think you're being clever."

"C'mmon, don't be like this," he cried. "I was sugar coating the pill."

He held fast to the door frame, resisting her attempts to get him onto the porch step.

"Why couldn't you just tell me? But no, you had to go and make an all singing all dancing production out of it, didn't you?"

"What, I shoulda told you over the turkey and mashed potatoes? 'Oh, by the way, honey, I got some great news last week – I don't got AIDS'."

"Don't be obtuse."

Another shove saw him over the threshold.,

"Or maybe I shoulda waited a while longer an' told you as I carried you up the stairs to bed, just to really get the romantic juices flowin'."

"Remove your hand," she warned, looking pointedly at his fingers hanging onto the doorframe as he faced her.

"You're being irrational, Harry," he cried.

"And you're rubbing my nose in your sexual history and I find it exceptionally crass and in very poor taste, not to mention downright vulgar." Her fist slammed into his fingers and he yelped. "Now go away!"

The front door slammed too and all was suddenly quiet.

The stupid, stupid man! Why did he have to be so bloody insensitive? She felt tears of angry frustration welling up in her eyes. These last few weeks, he'd been so incredibly thoughtful and attentive and it wasn't just the silly Christmas stuff. Dempsey could be a real gentleman when he wanted to be; she'd always known that but he hadn't ever displayed that side of himself to her quite so consistently. After all, they were work colleagues in a rough world of criminality, violence and deceit which didn't allow much time for etiquette and refinement where their relationship was concerned. But since Cornwall, they had seen each other much more regularly outside of work, four or five times a week. Although he still teased and chided her, something about the way he did it had changed; he had become gentler, less abrasive somehow. He had softened. But then, so had she, hadn't she? She knew she wasn't as quick to jump down his throat these days and was a lot more tolerant of his ways. But why in God's name had he thought that that 'Christmas present' was acceptable? It turned her stomach to even think about it. It brought it home to her how much he slept around; all those women, so much loose living that an AIDS test was an obligatory part of starting their new relationship.

She hated him for it but the love was ripping her in two. She knew she couldn't be without him; he meant too much to her now, which was why this thoughtless act had hurt so much. But no, it wasn't thoughtless, it was far from it yet despite the pains he had gone to, it still hadn't occurred to him that she might find the whole thing abhorrent.

"So now you put a piece of timber between us, can we talk about this?"

Harry wiped away the single tear which had spilled down her cheek.

"There's nothing to talk about. You're the most insensitive man alive. The end!"

"Baloney!" Dempsey exploded. "I did the decent thing here."

"Decent?" shrilled Harry.

"Is that so hard for you to believe? I put my hands up, I made a few mistakes. Figured I should make sure I was a hundred percent safe before you and I got it together. That's 'cause I care, Harry. I want for you to be safe too."

"Can you please keep your voice down? I have neighbours you know."

"So better let me in."

"No!" she hissed angrily. "You don't get it do you? You can't turn something like that into a bloody junket. Wrapping up your HIV test results doesn't make it amusing, Dempsey, it makes it bloody obscene!"

Dempsey banged his clenched fist gently against the door, dispirited and frustrated by her reaction.

"An' how would you have had me tell you, huh? C'mmon, you've told me how I got it wrong, now you can tell me how I coulda got it right 'cause last time I checked, AIDS wasn't real sexy, ya know. Kind of a passion killin' subject in fact." He had got considerably louder since she had told him to keep his voice down.

"The neighbours!" Harry reiterated, knowing even as she said it how banal it sounded.

The letter box shot open and Dempsey's voice was suddenly in the hall with her. "I don't give a shit about the neighbours, Harry but I'm down on my knees all the same if that's what it takes. Talk to me. Tell me why I got it so wrong."

"That's the point though, isn't it? I shouldn't have to explain. But subtlety and discretion never has been your strong suit, has it? Just mentioning you'd had a health check at an appropriate moment would have been far too easy for you. You couldn't have fitted the words, 'clean bill of health' into the conversation, could you?"

On the other side of the door, Dempsey was feeling the strain on his shoulder, his raised arm stretched up along the wood, hand flat. With his left thumb, he kept the letter box propped open. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions.

"Which moment? What conversation? I didn't wanna spend the evening tryin' to shoehorn it in someplace and still run the risk of fallin' flat on my face when I did."

He'd obviously thought about this after all, she had to credit him with that much. It was just they were looking at it from totally opposite ends of the spectrum.

"But it just wasn't appropriate, James. Surely you must be able to see that."

Dempsey felt a ray of hope shine upon him. She had called him 'James'. But he still wasn't about to back down. So he'd misjudged her reaction to this particular Christmas caper but it didn't make him wrong and her right. Okay, so it wasn't ideal but he'd figured it was better to keep it light, follow the Christmas theme thing 'cause Harry had been loving that. Hell, hadn't she organised all of this for tonight?

"If you think I screwed up then I'm sorry," he tried.

But that only served to madden Harry all the more.

"That isn't an apology and it's what _you_ think that's bothering me. You're just deflecting the issue."

Her own voice had risen again.

"Okay, okay. With hindsight, I could've toned it down maybe. Now you gonna let me in?"

"So now you're just going to roll over? You think that's going to make everything alright?"

Dempsey transferred his weight to his left foot, his haunch taking the strain away from his right knee.

"Jesus Christ, Harry, I can't win with you!"

"If you didn't treat everything like a game you might stand a fighting chance."

"My kneecaps are splintering on your porch, babe. D'you think we could slug this out from the comfort of your couch?"

"NO!" she objected. "Go home. I don't want to talk to you. I wish you'd get that through your thick head."

"Harry," he whined through the letter box. "Princess. Are we really gonna fall out over this? Let me back in."

She stood with her back to the door, arms folded defiantly across her chest. "Give me one good reason why I should," she fumed.

The letter box creaked as Dempsey's thumb pushed the flap up higher.

"Because I love you," he shouted, exasperated and becoming more perturbed by the second.

The stunned silence was palpable and the air around them seemed to still. Not even the breath in their lungs stirred as the words slowly penetrated.

Dempsey was in shock. He'd said it! Holy shit, he'd said it out loud. But it was the wrong time. She was mad at him – again. Was there ever a right time though? Despite how close they'd become, he still had this ability to press her buttons; to get her all fired up over something and nothing. Course, it was a two way street but he kind of enjoyed it in a perverse sort of a way. When she jabbed that finger of hers in his face and told him he was an idiot, he had to admit, it kinda turned him on. Did she get a kick out of it too? Was that part of the attraction for her, the regular flare-ups and clashes? Did it make her feel alive? Did she get that same rush he did?

Closing her eyes, Harry tried her best to relax, a seemingly impossible feat with her pulse racing and her heart pounding out of control.

There was no doubt about what he'd said – what he'd shouted, in fact the words were still ringing in her ears. And did he mean them? For some reason, her initial instinct was to deny their validity. In her mind she scorned the words. _'Nice try, Dempsey… Cheap shot … You really will say anything to get what you want…'_ But he meant it. She felt it in every fibre of her trembling body. She knew him too well to be fooled by worthless platitudes and verbal smokescreens and her inability to speak highlighted the fact. She hadn't a clue what to say anyway.

The letter box closed quietly and she pictured him now on his feet.

Harry turned to face the door and finally took a breath, feeling a little bit light headed.

He was standing right in front of her with just a two inch thick piece of wood between them.

Almost on autopilot, she reached for the door handle. It stuck and she had to wrench it. For months she'd meant to get somebody to come and look at it, bloody months. A second and then a third yank before it finally flew open.

Dempsey appeared as startled as she and for a moment they just stared at each other.

Then Dempsey stepped forward, drawn in by those wide blue eyes and just pulled her into his arms. There was no more deliberation, nothing else to consider and he knew that now had been the right time after all.

"You'd better come in," she whispered just before she was silenced by his lips on hers.

It felt different somehow. She couldn't explain it but the 'three little words' made everything better. The adrenaline; the euphoria, the knowledge that there was that magical thing between them.

Outside in the darkness, a small group of teenaged boys made their way along the pavement, laughing and joking with each other. The sound brought the rest of the world onto the doorstep for the two of them and the vintage Christmas music that had seemed to fade as their row escalated now returned to weave blithely about them.

Harry found herself laughing, a small, giddy, laugh as she stood with her arms around his neck. His half smile was anxiously curious. He was struggling to determine what the laughter meant and that in itself amused her. She slid her fingertip down the bridge of his nose, grinning up at him.

"You makin' fun o' me?" he asked uncertainly.

She shook her head, brimming with joy. "Nope."

"Okaaaayyy?" He glanced away as though trying to take stock of the situation before returning to her.

"I just can't believe you said it," she beamed.

"Well, I did." He was falling apart at the seams. "Did you like that I said it or… did I just make an awkward situation a thousand times worse for myself?"

"I love you too, you idiot."

Yep, he definitely liked when she called him an idiot.

"Well whadya know?" he mused calmly, shaking his head in a 'you learn something new every day' sort of way.

Their embrace became a clinch which quickly turned into a rugby tackle as Dempsey kicked the front door shut behind him and they half fell, half dragged each other up the staircase to the charming refrain of Benny Goodman's swing orchestra playing 'Santa Claus Came In The Spring'.

"How's the shoulder?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Having stripped him of his jacket to fling it across the chair in the corner of the bedroom, she was now working on the tie.

"Ready, willing and able."

He realised he was hindering her progress but he just couldn't keep his hands or his lips off her. He held her face in his hands, planting rough kisses where and when he could as she inched his tie undone.

Impatiently, she at last tugged it free and it went the way of the jacket, falling a little short to trail along the floor.

His mouth fell to her neck, making contact with her warm, scented skin.

"Jeez, you smell good."

Something deeply sensual with a wave of erotic spice invaded his nostrils. His lips parted involuntarily, drinking in more of the scent that clung to her throat.

"Coco," she moaned, fingers opening up his shirt.

"Chocolate, huh? Can't wait to peel away the wrapper." The thin, silky black fabric of her dress slid up to her thighs under his questing fingertips.

"It's Coco Chanel… perfume…" Her hands were exploring his bare chest and her mind missed a gear.

Dempsey's mouth curved against her throat. "I know it's perfume."

His right hand had moved up to her back and found a zip. He gave a little tug but it was a two handed operation required to pull it down and reluctantly his left hand left her thigh.

He raised his head to make eye contact as he drew the zip down, loving that soft, buzzy metallic sound it made.

"I love you, James," she said softly as the dress slipped from her shoulders.

His eyes seemed to change then, to darken yet fill with light at the same time. "You know I fell for you a long while back?"

He looked down at her exposed body. "Oh, baby," he breathed.

"When?"

"Let's just say it was before Cornwall."

A black silk and lace teddy. She'd had some reservations, wondering if it was too much but the look on his face would suggest it had been the right choice.

She was blushing slightly under his intense scrutiny. "I think I was already in denial by the start of the Sachs case."

His fingers wandered along her right shoulder.

"This has been a slow burner alright." He took her into his arms as he roamed her curves. "I guess there's been somethin' goin' on with us a lot longer than either of us care to admit, huh?"

"It's certainly looking that way."

She pulled his shirt back off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor before settling her hands on his waist.

His turn again.

The dress was hanging around her hips still but with effortless proficiency, Dempsey swept it downwards and she stepped clear, leaving her displayed to him in only the lingerie and heels.

He seemed to be frowning as he took in this image of her and Harry smiled anxiously, her self-consciousness in this unfamiliar attire blocking out his obvious appreciation.

"Turn around," he commanded, tossing the black silky dress in the general direction of the bedroom chair and giving her one hundred percent of his attention.

Her lack of self-confidence both amused and appalled him. Watching her pivot in front of him like some vestal virgin made him realise that she really wasn't used to wearing anything this sexy and therefore didn't have a God-damned clue how hot she looked.

The teddy was cut high on the leg and accentuated her perfect curves. The shape of her ass, highlighted by the broad lace trim would have brought a tear to the eye of any warm blooded male.

As she completed the 360 degrees he couldn't take it any longer, he needed to touch her, to feel her body against his.

"You're incredible, Harry." He trawled her body with his eyes. "Jesus Christ, you're so beautiful."

The awe evident in his voice gave her an injection of confidence and she reached out to take his hand and pull him towards her, stepping back towards the bed as she did so.

Dempsey followed her like a lamb to the slaughter, his heart racing. This was real and it was happening. A wish fulfilment four years in the making was right here in front of him.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Harry began to undo his belt.

He touched his fingers to her flushed cheek. "I love you, Princess. You have no idea how much."

Harry looked up and gave him a shyly sensual smile, quite glad of the excuse to look away from the eye level action as she unzipped him and more than happy to hear his declaration of love.

The way he looked at her just radiated that love. She felt it in the same way you could feel an electrical storm was brewing and it hit her like sunshine busting over her skin.

"I think I do."

Dempsey slid a hand into his right trouser pocket and drew out a handful of loose change which he quickly deposited on the bedside cabinet and almost at the same time, took his wallet from a back pocket.

And then the trousers were down around his knees and Harry was compelled to stare at the solid length of his penis as it strained for freedom within his shorts.

Flipping the wallet, Dempsey pulled a Durex from one of the slip pockets.

"I covered all bases," he said sheepishly.

She took it from him and put it with the loose change. "That won't be necessary. I went to see my doctor too. I can get the prescription framed and hung above the bed if you'd like," she added with mischievous sarcasm.

"I kinda like the sound of that. His 'n' hers – licence to lurve," he laughed and Harry shrieked as he launched himself on the bed, dragging her with him.

As they kissed, Dempsey pulled off his shoes and managed to disentangle himself from his trousers but only a few minutes after, he sat up.

"What?" asked Harry, raising herself up onto her elbows.

"I got a feelin'."

"What are you talking about?"

But he turned away from her and reached for the telephone.

"Dempsey!" she protested. "Who on earth are you calling for heaven's sake?"

He dropped the receiver down unceremoniously onto the bedside table, misjudging it so that it skidded off and cracked against the side before it hit the ground.

He didn't bother to retrieve it.

"Do not disturb," he grinned.

Harry welcomed him back into her arms and they made love to each other for the first time, a new experience, a mind blowing thing that had taken them forever to get to and was all the more incredible for the wait.

Dempsey realised that he'd never had first time sex with a woman whilst actually already being in love with her.

She was making him a better man.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it. They got there in the end ;-)**

 **Chapter 5 is in the making but might not be to everybody's taste... is all I'm saying ...**


	5. Comfort & Joy

**I hadn't realised that Chapter 4 was posted quite so long ago. But I promise I haven't been idle...**

 **Chapter 5**

I'm still not convinced that Spikings won't come bursting in at any moment," Harry joked, suddenly feeling the intensity of the situation seize her.

"Spikings and the whole damn Metropolitan police force could parade through here but it still wouldn't be enough to pull the plug on this now."

He rolled back over and settled against her, reaching for the back of her thigh so that she automatically slewed her leg over him.

He kissed her briefly, unable to resist watching his hand as it slid up over her buttock, into her waist and on to her small, firm breast, made all the more inviting by the fine layer of black silk and lace that covered it.

There was a lamp switched on in the far corner which cast the perfect light. The soft glow created a warm intimacy that lent itself well to the situation and Harry was glad she'd remembered this small detail when she'd dressed an hour ago.

She'd imagined the main overhead light being switched on; so stark and revealing leaving nowhere to hide.

God, she was nervous – which was silly really because this was what she wanted. And he'd told her he loved her… yes, he really had. Her mind was babbling at her in the background, distracting her from the here and now. It was nervous excitement that was all, she was heading into the unknown. Not that strictly speaking it was unknown, just unknown with him. And besides, how different could it actually be with Dempsey… and his reputation?

"I like this."

His fingers hooked under the thin strap on her left shoulder and moved it across so that he could place kisses over the bare skin.

"I like it a lot."

She had this 'thing' in her mind. She kept on wondering about how many there had been. Was it thirty? Forty? More than a hundred even? And if there was quantity then she had no doubt that 'quality' would be the next logical step for him. He probably had some horrible sort of grading system in place because that was what men did, didn't they, award points and keep scores. So what if he loved her, he wouldn't be able to help himself, to compare her with those other women, to slot her into his mental flow chart. She would be lacking in various categories, she had no doubt.

"Did you buy it for me?" he teased.

"Might've done," she replied with just the right amount of huskiness in her voice.

Dempsey chuckled, trailing his lips along the exposed upper curve of her breast.

"It's ticked all the right boxes for me."

* * *

 **It might 'appear' to be only a few hundred words but as I said, I haven't been idle. Chapter 5 is actually another 10,000 words long but because this site would class it as M-rated, it has to be one of those 'ask for' chapters. I could change the rating of the story but because of the default filter system of K-T ratings, if I did that the story wouldn't appear at all unless the filter was manually changed.**

 **So basically, if you want to read what naughty antics Dempsey and Harry get up to, you'll need to contact me via a Private Message and leave me your email address. Type it out phonetically i.e. demparry two at gmail dot com instead of demparry2 otherwise the website blanks to out.**

 **You'll be getting sexually explicit content so if that isn't your thing, don't ask and if it is, I look forward to your PM. I'll send the chapter out in an email in the form of a Word document.**


	6. It's All Gravy

**Thanks for all the feedback I got for Chapter 5. Everybody likes a rumpy-pumpy chapter it seems ;-)**

 **My Office356 expired on Friday and if it wasn't for Haveunotthought pointing me in the direction of OpenOffice, I wouldn't be posting this chapter tonight so thanks, Mrs O :-x ... and thanks also to NigtOwl22 for the generous offer :-)**

 **The first few hundred words of this chapter are the very end of Comfort & Joy (Extended Play) and is a continuation of what happens after 'the event'. It follows on to the next part of their evening so thought those who didn't quite fancy reading the naughty stuff would want this.**

 **Thanks all for the reviews you've left because it really does mean a lot :-)))**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Dempsey moved his head to the side, nuzzling against her cheek. "That was amazing," he smiled. "You're amazing."

Harry turned luxuriantly beneath him, twining her legs with his as he half rolled, taking her into his arms.

"It was quite wonderful."

She placed a lazy kiss on his chest, suddenly so tired, feeling as though she were sinking into his body.

"I love you, Princess. Don't think you got any idea how much."

"You can explain to me exactly how much if you like. I don't think I'm likely to get bored."

"Okaaaay. Lemme see." He sighed, pretending to think. "So you know that Dire Straits song, Romeo and Juliet?" He tightened his arms around her, cuddling her to him and then half crooned the lyrics, "Juliet, when we made love, you used to cry, you said, I love you like the stars above, I'll love you 'til I die."

She smiled warmly. "I know the song."

"Well, I can't hear that song without I change the name Juliet to Harriet. It's kinda your song now… well in my mind anyways. Is that sappy or what?"

"Very," she laughed. "But quite nice. And since it seems to be confession time, I may as well tell you how I bruised my shin last month."

She had acquired a corker of a bruise on her right shin three or four weeks earlier, the sort that started out life as a black lump and gradually subsided as it worked its way through the various hues of purple, blue and yellow.

"Thought you did that on the coffee table," he remembered.

"I did. But I didn't tell you what I was doing at the time."

"Doing?!" Dempsey's head jerked up and he turned his head awkwardly to look at her. "You gonna tell me it involved your panties around your ankles?"

"No, you dirty beast," she cut him off, laughing, "nothing of the sort!"

His head fell back onto the pillow dejectedly. "Uh. So what was you doin'?"

"I'd heard a car pull up on the drive and the engine sounded exactly the same as yours does. I'd thought you were paying me an unexpected visit and got a bit over-excited. I bashed my leg as I jumped up."

Dempsey laughed loudly. "I like that. That's cute. I'm gonna remember that." He lowered his head and dipped down to kiss her mouth. "I'm gonna remember everything," he told her quietly.

Harry closed her eyes and let his consummate gentleness wash over her. "Me too."

They both drifted into a light sleep, their vigorous lovemaking having taken its toll. A quarter of an hour later though, Harry stirred, snuggling against Dempsey's chest.

"Okay?" he mumbled, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm hungry."

"Again?" He chuckled sleepily.

Harry smiled. "For food. I keep catching a whiff of our Christmas dinner."

"I already ate."

"What?"

It took a moment for it to sink in but when it did she lifted a hand to swat him across the chest. "Dempsey!" she tutted. But she snuggled back down contentedly.

"What time is it anyway?" he asked.

"I have no idea. Nine o'clock?" she guessed idly.

Raising himself up on one elbow, Harry still wrapped around him, he twisted to get the bedside alarm clock into view. "Twenty past ten! Time flies when you're havin' sex."

"Is it really?" She was surprised but still made no effort to move. "We really should go down and eat."

"Mmm." His lips caressed her temple. "You really wanna fit in all of the positions tonight, dontcha?"

"You're terrible!" But an image had already deposited itself quite easily in her mind and it didn't seem altogether objectionable. Still, they definitely required sustenance after burning all that energy.

"Okay, let's go eat this fabulous festive dinner you've spent all day preparing. I guess we've worked up an appetite for it."

"Actually, I'm starving."

Harry slipped from his embrace and wrapped herself in the short, thin towelling robe hanging on the back of the door. It was plain white and accentuated her tan perfectly.

"I'm just going to freshen up first," and Dempsey figured that was code for, 'I'm going to the bathroom and I need some privacy'.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he called, stopping her in her tracks. "You just gonna love me an' leave me?" He was leaning up on both elbows with a hangdog expression.

Harry sauntered back to the bed to stand over him, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.

"Don't I get a kiss?" he asked plaintively.

She bent down and as her lips touched his, he sat up and reached his arms around to slide his hands up the backs of her thighs.

"You got the greatest ass in the world," he told her salaciously as he stroked the juicy peach.

"Really, Dempsey," she reprimanded, immediately slipping into self-deflection mode, "that sounds exactly like a motto from a piece of tacky seaside merchandise."

"Honey, you could wear hot pants with 'Beach Babe' written across your cheeks n' you still would look a class act."

"In your world, maybe."

 _Oh what a stupid thing to say. How much of a snob do I sound?_

"Sexist pigs are easily pleased," she added, wriggling her bottom distractingly.

Dempsey grinned. "Good save."

She sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I know you didn't, Princess but hey, you're classy an' I ain't. It's just a fact. No biggie."

She kissed him sweetly before standing up straight again. "And completely irrelevant anyway," she said dismissively.

She left the bedroom and a few moments later the bathroom door could be heard closing.

Dempsey sat up with a grimace and massaged his shoulder. It was starting to kick in again.

Edging himself off the bed, he fell on his jacket lying over the back of the chair and anxiously riffled through the pockets, forgetting exactly where he had put them in his haste.

A fresh supply. A new supplier.

Whoever it was who'd said love is pain sure knew what they were talking about.

He swallowed a couple of the pills dry – but boy, was she worth it.

* * *

He was amazed and amused all over again when he got back downstairs, wearing the faded T-shirt and cut-off sweatpants that were kept in the bathroom chest for his stopovers.

Harry had really pushed the boat out with this Christmas thing.

He let his fingers trail lightly over the fake holly and ivy that twisted with the sparkly lights around the handrail of the staircase as he descended.

Pretty.

And he noticed the two ceiling decorations hanging in the square hallway for the first time too; large, ornate foil lanterns that seemed to glow like molten gold.

With a lingering look at the impressive Christmas tree, Dempsey sauntered through to the kitchen where he could hear sounds of activity.

Harry, in her short, white robe turned away from the hob as he walked in, a pan of simmering gravy in her hands.

"It's ready when you are," she smiled. "I've had a look and everything still seems okay apart from the roast potatoes which might be a bit past their prime."

He rubbed his hands together. "Bring it on."

As she transferred the gravy into a pottery boat, he went and stood behind her, arms about her waist. He gave a long, contented sigh. "This is great."

"It's only gravy," she joked.

He laughed, kissing the side of her neck. "This. All of it. The whole shebang. You got me feelin' all mushy."

"Oooh, do I get extra points for mushiness?"

Damn! Before he'd come down, she'd been wondering what her score sheet looked like at the moment, how Dempsey had rated her. It hadn't been such a torturous thought this time, more of a poking fun at herself moment. He seemed to be more than happy with the way 'it' had turned out though and once she'd got around her problem with his seemingly uncanny ability to 'hit the spot' as it were, she had felt a lot less anxious.

"Was kinda hopin' those extra points would go to me. I don't usually do mushy and I definitely don't admit to it."

"Noted," she told him coolly, inwardly rejoicing.

Putting the boat onto its matching stand, she turned with it but found Dempsey unwilling to relinquish his hold on her. She looked up behind her to meet his soppy grin. "You're going to have to let go now."

"Just another couple minutes."

"Move it!" she instructed, laughing as she eased him back with her elbows.

She accepted his kiss with a good grace and then headed out of the kitchen.

"Anything you need me to bring?" he called,

"Just yourself." Again, cool and teasing, the words themselves the loving hook.

The dining room was resplendent in red, gold and green. There was nothing gaudy about the way Harry had decorated this room; it was reminiscent of a thoroughly Victorian Christmas.

Deep red velvet ribbons adorned a small tree which stood on the sideboard, cherub style plaster angels standing either end of it. On the back wall hung a large, oval wreath decorated with pine cones and berries, nine woven silk gold reindeer and in the centre, a Victorian Father Christmas riding a magnificent sleigh.

But it was the table itself which most impressed Dempsey. It had been fully extended so as to accommodate the warming plates set up on one side and it was here that Harry placed the gravy boat, beside the huge turkey.

"We expecting guests?" he asked, amazed by the number of serving dishes he counted.

"If you're going to do Christmas you may as well do it properly," she replied. "Besides, I've got plenty of room in the freezer."

"You definitely got December 25th covered, that's for sure."

There were two adjacent place settings at the opposite end of the table, silver cutlery and crisp white table linen overlaid by a beautifully embroidered table runner.

"Don't stand on ceremony," said Harry, grabbing herself a dinner plate from one of the settings and taking the lids off a couple of the dishes.

"Baby, this is incredible. I'm seriously impressed here."

His eyes travelled the length of the table, taking in the magnificent centrepiece of holly and ivy surrounding an elaborate arrangement of wax fruit.

Six delicate glass candle holders stood at intervals between the intertwined lengths of foliage to illuminate the display beautifully.

"Most of the decorations came from Winfield Hall," she told him. "Some of them are quite old. They were my grandparents' originally. Freddy gave me two huge boxes full when I left home and made me promise to put them to good use. He and my mother used to throw big parties at Christmas time but after she died of course, it became a much more low key affair."

She spooned some mashed potatoes onto her plate, wrinkling her nose at the stodgy consistency. "This has definitely lost its appeal now."

"It'll be great," he dismissed. "But he still does the party thing. Last Christmas was knock-out. An' then he does the Summer Ball every year, right?"

"It's all on a much smaller scale now; family and friends. In the old days there'd be a couple of hundred guests attending, I doubt there were above fifty last Christmas."

She pointed to the turkey, still covered over with foil. "Would you mind carving off some of the turkey? I dare say it's stone cold but it'll do."

Happy to oblige, Dempsey picked up the carving knife and fork and peeled back the foil. This simple request meant a lot to him. It might only be the two of them here tonight but it was the hidden connotations for him; it was a job that traditionally fell to the head of the household, the man of the house. He wasn't under any illusion that this had occurred to Harry but it was still there and it made him happy in some crazy, cheesy way.

"I'll consider myself honored to have gotten an invite then. Not that I didn't before," he added with a grin.

Upon discovering that Dempsey was at a loose end last year, Harry had invited him to spend Christmas with her and her father at Winfield Hall. He'd been reluctant at first, not wanting to intrude on what would obviously be a family occasion. But Harry had been very cool about it, playing it down as an 'open doors affair' and assuring him an extra place at the table and a bed in one of the guest rooms really wasn't a big deal.

He'd ended up having a great time during the three days he spent there, meeting various distant relatives who came and went during that period and getting to now some of Harry's close family who were staying for the week. He had almost wished he hadn't agreed to the plans he'd made for New Year but figured the change of pace wouldn't do any harm and besides, he probably shouldn't outstay his welcome at Winfield Hall.

It was during that time, when he'd got to see a whole other facet to Harry that he saw now as the time when the love had begun to set in.

Seeing the way she molly-coddled her Great Aunt Mathilda had been the cutest thing and in turn, the obvious affection her Uncle Edmund and Uncle Duffy had for Harry was pretty special too. Sure there seemed to be more oddballs coming and going than any one family had a right to but on the whole, they were a cool bunch of nut jobs.

He placed two large slices of turkey breast on Harry's plate and continued to carve for himself as she proceeded to pile on more food from every dish.

"Hungry, huh?"

"I told you, I'm starving," she said, picking up a roasted parsnip in her fingers and eating it with obvious relish.

"Lemme guess, you spent the whole day cookin' up a storm an' never got around to eatin' anythin'."

"Exactly."

Dempsey served himself with brussel sprouts and carrots and asked, "Does that account for your appetite in the bedroom too?"

Harry could do nothing to prevent the blush that stained her cheeks, a blush that really had no cause to be there at all after what had just taken place. Although Dempsey was obviously pleased that she had enjoyed the sex, his somewhat arrant attitude brought with it a mild wave of embarrassment for Harry. She found it difficult to be so blaze about it and actually highlighting her unexpectedly voracious experience made her feel ever so slightly slutty.

He put his free arm around her and whispered into her ear, "We need to leave room for second helpings."

Funny how he knew just the right thing to say. The use of the word 'we' made all the difference because suddenly it was about them again, the attention deflected away from herself. Even if it had been unintentional, Harry felt the discomfort slip away along with her blushes.

She turned her head to receive the kiss she knew was waiting for her. "That sounds like a good idea," she agreed, just before his lips crushed softly against hers. She had thought it was going to be a quick, friendly exchange but the warmth and tenderness that blossomed so quickly held them together with a delicious sweetness. As they finally parted, Harry looked up into his eyes, a little mesmerised.

"I don't know what it is about you, James," she said with burlesque curiosity.

"You don't? Some detective you turned out to be. You can't see charm, wit and devilishly handsome good looks when they're starin' you right in the face?"

He held her gaze unfalteringly, a teasing smile making her heart flutter.

"I'll admit I've been a little slow on the uptake," she said playfully. "Or maybe you just hide those attributes exceptionally well."

"Hey now..." Dempsey started to object but Harry kissed him again swiftly and moved out of his embrace to pour gravy over her mini mountain of food.

Dempsey laughed and followed suit.

They sat themselves at the end of the table and Harry picked up the pot of cranberry sauce, offering some to Dempsey.

"Isn't this the wrong season for cranberries?" he asked, spooning a hefty dollop onto his plate.

She began to explain that unfortunately she'd had to use a jar of it from a hamper she'd received last year but was stopped by the raucous, muffled chuckle as he forked food into his mouth.

"I'm messin' with you! Forget the cranberries, I can't believe you managed to get hold of half of this stuff!"

"Two parts desk work to one part leg work if you must know," she replied haughtily and then descended ravenously upon her dinner.

"Boy, this is good," Dempsey said in between mouthfuls. He eyed the large glass goblet by his plate. "I'm gonna get a Coke. You want anythin'?" he asked, pushing his chair back from the table.

Over the last couple of weeks, he had stopped asking if it was okay to help himself. He'd started acting like he was at home – and Harry felt stupidly happy because of it.

"I'll have water, thanks. Lots of ice."

He leaned over to kiss her as he walked past.

"Go easy. Don't want you puttin' out the fire."

There wasn't much danger of that with him around to fan the flames.

Whilst he was fetching their drinks, Harry realised she'd forgotten all about the mulled wine she'd put into a jug and left on the end of one of the hot plates.

Still chewing on a mouthful of food, she got up and poured out a glass for each of them. Might just as well – once their thirst had been quenched, the spiced wine would go down nicely with the meal and besides, she was very much in the mood for getting comfortably 'merry' with James tonight. She took a large sip and smiled to herself... very much in the mood full stop. He came back and after pulling the ring on his can of Coke and drinking down half of it without even sitting, he ineffectually covered a burp with his hand and then took a cassette tape from his shorts pocket. He went to the CD radio cassette player that resided near the bookcase.

"Ambiance," he stated, hitting the button. "I wanna remember every detail of tonight an' this kinda music sets memories in stone, ya know. This is a really great tape"

Harry laughed as the opening track of the B side kicked in; Sinatra singing Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

Dempsey then went on to tell her how he'd grown up listening to this kind of music; The Rat Pack, Julie London, Billie Holiday, had all dominated the airwaves in his parent's house when he was small.

"Actually, me too," Harry said. "Not really my decade but Freddy's probably the same age as your parents and he's always had a thing for the American crooners. He always used to have the record player on in his study," she remembered, getting up to serve herself another slice of turkey. "Still does in fact but it's more likely to be Mozart these days... What?" she asked suspiciously, catching him staring at her intently as she wandered back.

"Nothin'. Just admiring the view."

"Are you now?" she smiled, knowingly.

She put her plate down and was about to retake her seat when Dempsey reached an arm out and pulled her down onto his lap. "Yup. That a problem for you?"

"Just about tolerable," she grinned, her arms about his neck.

It was so nice being in his embrace. She felt so comfortable, completely at ease. Making love had been that final barrier between them and now it was done, she felt closer to him than she had any man. It was funny but even her husband, Robert, had never been able to complete her like this. On paper, they had so much more in common than she and Dempsey; the same sort of privileged upbringing, a similar level of education and the same general lifestyle but it still hadn't worked. Dempsey was almost the exact opposite and that in itself had been a huge obstacle when her feelings for him had begun to so unaccountably change. How could _that_ sort of relationship possibly exist between them? Dempsey was so far removed from being her type it was laughable.

But some things were just meant to be.

"We're supposed to be eating," she laughed as one hand smoothed across her back, the other gently squeezing her bottom.

"We got all night," he murmured as he kissed behind her ear, causing her to wriggle, "to eat," another teasing kiss, "to drink," his fingers inching down her robe allowing his lips to drift across her shoulder, "...to make love."

She felt that familiar twinge of desire, that throbbing pang that she experienced so readily and so frequently when she was near him. Only now it was more intense, as though her body, knowing what it could expect, was goading her on.

His fingertips were feather-light along her spine, making her painfully aware of the fabric that separated them from her skin. His breath was soft as he worked his way down to the curve of her breast.

"But what order we do them in is up for discussion."

"Oh really, Dempsey? That isn't like you at all."

His hair was tickling against her throat, making her squirm all the more and when his kisses transferred to her throat, she began to giggle. "You've always been the 'shoot first, ask questions later' type."

Dempsey went in for the kill then, nuzzling into her neck, hands squeezing at her waist, going for maximum convulsion effect.

"You talkin' dirty again, Sergeant?"

Harry's wriggling and shrieking on his lap was having a knock-on effect and Dempsey found himself struggling to keep her balanced as he himself rocked with insuppressible laughter.

"Stop it, now. Stop!" Harry managed to gasp when his grip slackened from her waist for a moment. "I mean it, James... seriously, you'll make me throw up!"

But that only succeeded in fetching another riotous peel of laughter from them both.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," he cried. "Just stay where you are..." he reached over and pulled Harry's plate closer to his own, "...an' I'll feed ya, 'kay?"

She tutted, still giggling as he brought a forkful of stuffing and cranberry sauce to her mouth. "I'm not a baby!"

The food was pushed to her lips and she accepted it with a grin.

"Sure you are – you're my baby... babe."

Harry looked down at him, a tidal wave of love washing over her. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

She attempted a haughty look which was quite difficult to achieve with a mouthful of food.

"I know so."

That dark brown voice had the power to make her physically weaken; like warm, strong hands on tired muscles, it could induce a feeling of comfort or provoke a burning sensuality. Right now, the latter was in progress.

As he gazed into her eyes, Harry swallowed, wanting him more than ever.

When the sudden two note chime of the doorbell resonated from out in the hallway, they drew apart, mildly startled by the intrusion into their private little world.

"It's nearly eleven!" Harry exclaimed, disgruntlement rising above surprise.

"Any ideas?" Dempsey asked as they got to their feet.

"No but no one turns up on your doorstep this late at night unless they're the bearers of bad news or they're pissed and neither one is welcome here tonight I'm afraid."

Dempsey hovered a little helplessly as Harry marched out into the hall. Should he make himself scarce? Should he go with her to the door? Could be anybody out there – all kinds of nut jobs roaming the streets after dark. But knowing Harry the way he did, she wouldn't thank him for his concern a.k.a. over-protectiveness as she'd see it.

Just a couple of steps past the brightly lit Christmas tree, Harry suddenly knew exactly who it was who stood on the other side of her front door.

Their first night of togetherness was, unfortunately, about to be curtailed.


	7. The Outlaw

**Thanks for all the reviews I've had. It makes the whole thing worth while, knowing that people are actually reading. I've had a few extra fav's and follows too recently which is lovely :-)))**

 **Just want to say, _sophiesworld2_ is a little bit scary. She seems to know exactly what's going to happen and managed to guess who Harry's 'lame dog' is from chapter 1! ;-D**

* * *

Chapter 7

Despite being ninety-nine percent certain who was ringing her doorbell at 11:00pm on this Saturday night, cautionary habit forced Harry to leave the chain in place as she opened the door.

Strangely, the first thing that struck her was the fact that it was raining, quite heavily it appeared, in big fat droplets that splattered as they hit the ground. But then she fixed on her visitor, soaked to the skin in a pale blue sweatshirt and jeans, his blond hair plastered to his skull and the lengths curling darkly against his shirt collar.

He looked up at her, humiliation dulling his eyes.

"Sorry," he said.

Harry removed the door chain and stood back quickly to let him in.

"Jonathan! Come in. Look at you, you're drenched!"

He shuffled forward uncertainly. "I'm really sorry. I just didn't know where else to go..."

"Don't be silly. I'm glad you're here."

Was she _glad_ though? Really? Well as far as the rest of her night with Dempsey was concerned, it was an unmitigated disaster. Of all the times for Jonathan to turn up, he had to choose tonight.

As he stepped into the hallway, she got a clearer view of his appearance. He was bedraggled and dirty; the sweatshirt filthy and with what looked like blood down the front of it.

The dark red flecks adhering to his nostrils and unkempt moustache would corroborate this.

"What happened?" she asked with concern.

His hand rose to his nose and he brushed the back of his hand against it gingerly. "It's nothing. It's fine. I tried to telephone earlier but the line was engaged. I'm sorry," he apologised again, "it was wrong of me to turn up unannounced like this and at such a ridiculous time of night"

And then he suddenly seemed to become aware of his surroundings. A variety of expressions crossed his haggard face before, upon taking in Harry's less than modest attire, he side-stepped to the door, mumbling, "I'm so sorry... I shouldn't be here... I'm clearly interrupting something... I'm so sorry, Harry."

"It doesn't matter. Really. Stay and have something to eat at least, while you dry off."

"Plenty to go around, pal."

He instinctively looked towards Dempsey who was leaning in the dining room doorway.

His eyes widened and he held a hand up in supplication. "Oh hell! I didn't know you..."

He looked from one to the other beseechingly. "I saw there were two cars outside but it's a shared driveway isn't it? I assumed one was the neighbours' ..." He hefted his backpack higher up on his shoulder and they both caught the small grimace of a man in some physical discomfort.

Dempsey stepped forward and casually extended his hand in greeting.

"Jim Dempsey. An' I take it you're Jonathan Makepeace. Harry's brother-in-law, right?"

He shook Dempsey's hand gratefully. "Yes, yes that's right... well, ex brother-in-law, more's the pity... from a selfish point of view, you understand. My brother was a bloody idiot."

"Yeah, Harry said your paths had crossed the other day. Getcha a drink, Jonathan?"

Harry looked on, amazed at how calmly Dempsey was handling the situation and feeling meaner than ever for wishing he'd picked another day to show up.

"No, honestly. I'm sure the only visitor who'd be welcome tonight is Father Christmas."

He looked about him with a wry smile and Harry once again cursed the appallingly bad timing.

"Rather an elaborate joke," she told him carelessly as she took his arm and steered him through to the dining room.

"Now you help yourself to whatever you want while I set another place."

Jonathan started to object again but Harry raised a finger to silence him. "You're staying and that's an end to it."

Dempsey took his backpack from him and handed him a dinner plate as he told him, "We're on the mulled wine – might warm you up. Or how 'bout a beer? Or a cuppa tea, maybe?"

Harry had her back to them as she selected the silver from the drawer and had to stifle a laugh.

He'd picked up a very English way of saying 'cup of tea'. When he first came to London, he'd joke about with an absurd Cockney accent but now it wasn't so much about putting an accent on as not having his own American accent when he said it.

"Would tea be a lot of trouble?" Jonathan asked hopefully.

"No problem. How d'you take it?"

* * *

Dempsey went away to the kitchen leaving Harry alone with her visitor who stood awkwardly holding the plate.

"Harry, I know it's an awful imposition but do you think I could use your bathroom?" He tugged at the front of his sweatshirt. "I seem to be rather a mess at the moment."

"Yes, of course! I'm so sorry, what was I thinking?" The surprise of him turning up like this had thrown her somewhat, knocking her inherent good manners for six. "I'm sure we can find whatever you need."

Jonathan followed her out into the hall and she indicated he should precede her up the stairs.

She was embarrassingly aware of the shortness of her robe, not to mention the fact that she was wearing not a stitch underneath it.

"First door on the right," she directed. "I'll sort you out some towels, you'll find disposable razors in the top drawer of the small chest of drawers and shampoo and everything is already out so just help yourself."

"Thanks," he smiled humbly. "I shouldn't be burdening you like this. I want you to know that I'm very grateful."

Harry ignored his gratitude, hoping that passing it off would make it less of an issue.

"Have you got a change of clean clothes?" she asked lightly when they were stood in the bathroom. "I'm sure Dempsey wouldn't mind lending you some of his if you'd like me to pop those in the washer."

Again, she made light of it, making sure she was out of the door before she said, "Just bring your stuff down when you're ready."

"Dempsey?" Jonathan queried the use of his surname.

Harry smiled, realising how odd that must sound to him. "James," she corrected herself but didn't offer any further explanation at this stage

After quickly changing into jeans and a pink mohair jumper, Harry hastened back downstairs, that name still on her lips.

"Hi," she said dubiously.

Dempsey was in the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, the pottery (not china) teapot on a tray along with a jug of milk, the sugar pot, spoons and mugs. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have understood the choice of pottery over china.

"Hey."

He turned and Harry went to him, insinuating herself into his arms.

"Sorry," she whispered with a grimacing sigh.

"It's cool," he assured her. "Relax. You puttin' him up for the night?"

"I thought I might offer. I can't not, really. Do you mind?" She rolled her eyes. "Silly question – of course you mind."

Dempsey flicked a few strands of her fringe away from those worried blue eyes. "Yeah, I mind. I mind I ain't got you all to myself, I can't deny it. But I guess his need is greater than mine, ya know."

He ran his hands up underneath her jumper, grinning when he discovered her lack of underwear. "I take that back, I suddenly got a whole lot needier."

Squirming pleasurably, Harry sighed. "Oh and I might have offered to lend him some of your spare clothes."

"Okaaaaaay..." he chuckled. "Anythin' else? I mean, my car keys are still in my jacket pocket?"

She looked at him with a mixture of remorse and chagrin.

"Hey, come on, Babe, I'm kiddin'. He's one of the good guys, I get that. You wanna do for him, it's okay by me."

Moulding her body to his, she gently kissed his mouth. "I'll make it up to you," she said shyly.

"Countin' on it, Princess."

There was that dark, salacious tone in his voice that made Harry shiver with anticipation but she still saw the love that shone in his eyes. There was no mistaking it; she felt it penetrating her heart, gloriously painful love that threatened to take her down and bury her deep.

"I can't tell him to go," Harry reasoned.

"I know."

"He wouldn't have turned up here unless he was desperate."

"I know that too," he soothed. "I understand."

Tears suddenly and inexplicably formed in her eyes, trembling along the waterline before two large droplets of frustration and sorrow spilt down her cheeks.

"I don't want you to bloody understand!" she hissed, angrily wiping them away.

"What?" Dempsey baulked. "Hey!"

He withdrew his hands from beneath her jumper, pulling her to him and tilting her chin up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

She laughed then, sniffing back the new tears that had begun to well up. "I want you to be resentful. Everything was perfect, wasn't it? I put so much effort into tonight..."

"I know you did, baby." He kissed her forehead.

"... because I wanted you to know how much I appreciated all the bloody stupid Christmas stuff you'd done and now this has happened and spoilt everything and I feel like it's all my fault and you're being exceptionally nice about it – ridiculously nice. And I just keep thinking that this was a one-off that we'll never have back again and it's totally ruined. It feels like all these weeks, all the build up, it's all just gone up in smoke..." She ran out of breath then, gulping back any further bitter lament. "And I want you to be angry about it," she managed to add.

He wrapped his arms round her in a bear hug, laughing as he swayed her gently from side to side.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. If it's any consolation to ya, while you was upstairs, I think I probably curdled the milk I was cursin' so bad."

Oh yeah, he was mad alright. He was boiling over inside thinking how this guy, the brother of her ex-husband no less, had managed to almost wreck the event of the year.

She was smiling now, her arms tight about his waist and almost like she was reading his mind, concluded, "I suppose it could've been worse, he could've arrived a couple of hours earlier."

"See? Every cloud, huh?"

She nodded. "He must think we're completely bonkers." She brought her hand up to rub away a faint red lipstick mark from his jawline just below his ear. "Christmas in September! Not sure what explanation to give him. It isn't really the sort of thing one can just gloss over, is it?" she said, pulling a face.

"Not really," he laughed. "You did kinda pull out all the stops on this one."

"Hmm. Are you suggesting my efforts are lacking in subtlety?" she replied impishly.

"Subtle like Marciano's Susie Q," he drawled.

Harry frowned playfully. "I have absolutely no idea who these people are."

"The great transatlantic divide strikes again."

"Make that inter-planetary divide," she smirked, gazing flirtatiously at his mouth.

Dempsey gazed right back, feeling the same old irresistible draw to her, only these days, he wasn't forced to walk away from her teasing devilment.

"Two worlds sure collided tonight though, huh?"

The feelings of frustration and sadness that had descended upon Harry minutes ago were being gently eased away simply by his attentiveness and caring. The problem of Jonathan Makepeace no longer seemed so depressing now she had had her little rant and vented her emotions. Dempsey, she realised, one way or another, always managed to distract her when problematic issues were in danger of getting the better of her. His brusqueness and irreverence was one way and seemed to do the job in working situations but his natural charm and warmth of character succeeded on a more personal level.

He had the power to mentally disarm her and, Harry decided as their lips met, that made Dempsey a wondrously dangerous individual

"You find out what his deal is?" he asked against her softly yielding mouth.

"Not yet."

"So we got a few more minutes to ourselves," he grinned, "before we need to think about any more problems. How 'bout we make the most of 'em?"

* * *

 _NB – 'Marciano's Susie Q' is a reference to the 1950's American boxer, Rocky Marciano and the nickname of his famous 'right hook' knockout punch._


	8. Mixology

**Chapter 8**

 **Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.** **  
** **I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.**

 **Rupert Holmes**

 **When I was young  
It seemed that life was so wonderful  
A miracle, Oh it was beautiful, Magical**

 **Supertramp**

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Jonathan Makepeace tapped lightly on the wide open dining room door before entering.

Harry and Dempsey had heard the creak of the fourth stair as he descended so his appearance was of no surprise to them anyway.

"Wow!" Dempsey exclaimed, putting down his wine goblet. "That razor sure worked some magic."

Clean shaven and with his damp hair brushed back, he looked a different person. In fact, with his angular jaw, grey eyes and dark blond hair, he was quite a handsome man.

"Much better," Harry agreed.

"Thank you. I certainly feel much better."

He had a bundle of clothing in his arms and Harry got up to take it from him.

"I'll just get these in the machine and bring the tea through. Help yourself to food although I should warn you, it's definitely past its prime now."

"It all looks and smells wonderful," he assured her.

"Won't be a tick," she breezed, more for Dempsey's benefit than anything. It really wasn't fair to leave him in this absurd situation with a complete stranger.

"I appreciate the loan of the clothes, Jim. It's all terribly embarrassing..." he stammered.

"Not a problem. Just moochin' around pants an' a sweater I keep here for whatever."

"Oh!" he said, surprised. "You and Harriet don't live together then?"

Dempsey lifted the goblet again and took a large gulp. Whoa! Was that the assumption he'd made?

"No way! Accordin' to Harry, I ain't even housebroken!"

Jonathan joined in with Dempsey's laughter from the other end of the table where he had succumbed to his severe hunger pangs and was filling his plate with Christmas fare.

"Might she train you up herself at some point do you think?"

Dempsey felt as though he was heading into dangerous territory. Their relationship had moved into a different zone only hours before and yet, here was this guy asking what must seem to him like a perfectly reasonable question he hadn't even had a chance to consider himself.

"Dunno 'bout that. Guess you can't teach an old dog new tricks and even if you could, I ain't convinced Harry would have the patience."

"I wouldn't have the patience for what?" Harry asked, the tray of tea things appearing through the door just before Harry herself came into view.

"For an un-housebroken dog," he answered, making some room on the table.

"A dog?" she queried but Dempsey swiftly changed the direction of the conversation by asking, "Shall I be mother?"

As she and Jonathan laughed, she cast him a look that told him his diversion had been noted.

Jonathan went and sat down beside Dempsey and having already seen their empty plates before them, he immediately began to eat. And clearly he was very hungry.

"This is absolutely wonderful," he enthused, "really wonderful."

Harry smiled. "Save some room for the Christmas pudding won't you?"

"Really? There's even a Christmas pud? I'd love to hear the story behind all this."

Harry put her elbows up on the table and said casually, "Tell you what, I'll tell you why we're celebrating Christmas on the fourteenth of September if you tell us why you're here celebrating it with us tonight. I think that's fair."

Jonathan bowed his head and swallowed his food uneasily.

"Of course. I owe you an explanation."

"You don't 'owe' anything. It's just that I'm struggling to see how you've got into this situation, Jonnie. You're one of the last people I would've expected something like this to happen to."

Jonathan smiled ruefully. "It happened with astonishing ease. You don't realise how quickly everything can just slip away from you if you let it... if you lose your grip."

He paused with his knife and fork for a moment, watching as Dempsey poured tea into his cup. "Thanks."

"How long you been out there?" Dempsey asked him.

"On the streets, you mean? Not long, relatively speaking. Five weeks – nearly six." He spooned two sugars and stirred it in slowly. "It feels like a lifetime on nights like tonight though."

"But how?" Harry burst out, unable to comprehend his predicament. She could no sooner grasp the concept of Jonathan being homeless than she could imagine it happening to herself.

He shrugged, offering a tired smile. "Just a catalogue of bad decisions and silly mistakes. I was made a bankrupt back in April; made a couple of poor investments which with hindsight, common sense should have told me to avoid like the plague. And then just at the wrong time, I was sued. I lost everything and then some."

"Jeez," Dempsey murmured.

Harry was genuinely shocked. "Oh, how awful. You had assets tied in with the company?"

"The cars, the house... I'd invested my own savings into the company just to try and stay afloat. All gone – including Sabrina I might add although I can't blame her for that now can I?"

"She your wife?" Dempsey asked.

"Yes, the old trouble and strife," he nodded. "Not for much longer I don't suppose. She'll be hunting me down for a divorce sooner or later."

"Any kids?" Dempsey questioned.

"No. No children which now seems quite fortunate I suppose." His mouth curved up a little. "We do have Nelly though, a rather lovely cocker spaniel."

Harry smiled affectionately at that. "I didn't really know Sabrina very well. We only met a couple of times but I was at the wedding of course."

"What is it they say – marry in haste, repent at leisure?"

"Hmm," Harry agreed, "I think we both of us learnt that lesson rather too late."

Jonathan chuckled. "That we did."

Throughout the conversation, he had continued to eat and now his plate was almost clear, Harry tried to offer him more.

"No, really. As lovely as it was, I couldn't manage another morsel. Haven't had such a huge meal in a good while." He eyed his empty mug. "I could just about manage another cup of tea though."

Harry obliged as she asked, "What about your parents? Surely they'd be able to help out."

Jonathan sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Mum died eighteen months ago. It was sudden. A brain haemorrhage."

"Barbara? Oh my God. I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

"These terrible things happen sometimes."

"And Patrick?"

"Dad went downhill fast afterwards. He's in a home. Alzheimers."

"You've had a tough time, pal, that's for sure," Dempsey sympathised.

"At least I'm still here to tell the tale."

"But why can't you live at Greyfields?" asked Harry. "Isn't it just standing empty? It's your family home!"

Jonathan chuckled as he brought the mug of hot tea to his mouth. "Yes, it is, isn't it."

Dempsey decided there was no point pussyfooting around. "You got a brother alive and well dontcha? Why don't he step up?"

Harry shot her partner a warning look which softened the instant she acknowledged that the same question had been playing around in her mind too.

"Robert and I aren't on speaking terms... haven't been for some considerable time. And unfortunately for me, he is the elder son with the law practice... and the power of attorney."

Harry had to take a moment to realise exactly what he was saying.

"So Robert has complete control over your father's affairs and yet won't even let you live in the house? Because of some stupid falling out, he'd sooner see you living rough?" She got up from her chair and stalked to the end of the table where she grabbed the jug of mulled wine from the hotplate. "That man is an absolute monster," she gritted.

Jonathan smiled placidly at her indignation. "To be fair, he doesn't know my situation..."

"Then tell him, for heaven's sake!"

Now standing beside her chair again, she held the jug poised over Dempsey's glass. "Do you want any more of this?" she snapped.

"Maybe just a little – to soften the edges, ya know," he drawled.

"Sorry," she apologised, "it just makes me angry to think of everyone dancing to Robert's tune." She topped both of their glasses up. "Jonathan, are you sure I can't tempt you?"

"No. Really. It's safer to keep a clear head out there, believe me."

"Well, you're obviously not going out again tonight," she said, going to the cabinet and taking down another goblet," so you may as well eat, drink and be merry."

"I couldn't..." Jonathan began.

"It's only a futon in the junk room but you're more than welcome to it."

He accepted the glass of mulled wine she handed him. "I suppose it would be extremely churlish of me to refuse."

Curious to hear the full story behind Robert Makepeace's involvement, Dempsey backtracked to before Harry's invitation.

"Must've been one helluva fallin' out for you to take a sidewalk over an apology.

Jonathan stared vacantly at the wine goblet in his hand. "Pride comes before a fall." He chuckled quietly and looked at Harry. "They're all coming out tonight, aren't they? All the old adages and cliches."

He returned to his glass and said, "I may be nought but a beggar, Mister Dempsey but I still have a few shreds of dignity remaining." He lifted his head. "And it certainly isn't me who owes the apology."

Dempsey sensed a deep loathing was adrift, just beneath those ripples of discord. "You wanna share with the group?" he chided, making it clear by 'group' that he wasn't alone in his feelings for his brother.

"My unwillingness to share was the problem, funnily enough; brotherly love, in my view, does not extend to one's wife."

"Oh my God," Harry exploded. "Unbelievable!"

Dempsey sat in silence, his own loathing of Robert Makepeace having found a new level.

"When did this happen?" she asked.

"Just over two years ago. Sabrina was very remorseful. Robert, on the other hand, most definitely was not. He actually saw it as a game, stealing her away from me, it was a challenge. He made no secret of it. Sabrina got swept along in the moment as it were."

"He always was manipulative."

A shadow of a frown interrupted Dempsey's neutral expression.

"But you forgave her?" Harry asked.

"Not really," he said sadly. "The marriage was doomed to failure after that. We just rubbed along, that's all. The bankruptcy was the final nail in the coffin."

"I'm so sorry, Jonnie. It's a wonder you kept your sanity throughout all of that."

Jonathan smiled weakly. "It's been touch and go to be honest. I was pretty low a few weeks ago. I'd almost given up altogether when I took to living rough. Suppose I was trying to escape it all."

Harry could see she had the opportunity to help him get his life back on track - and she would. She might be his only chance for a long time.

"But there must've been so many people who would've helped you out before it came to this. Me for one! You only had to ask."

He lowered his eyes, embarrassed by her sympathy. "It isn't that simple... it really isn't. I was in a very dark and dismal place. It isn't easy to find the motivation once you get so far down."

"But you're here now," she told him firmly, "that's the main thing. Things are going to get better."

He seemed to sink into himself then, shying away from her positivity.

"No, I don't want to put you out, Harry. I mean it. I'll be fine, I just... I don't now, seeing you last Monday, it just sparked something."

Dempsey sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out, wine goblet in both hands. "That, along with the beating you took tonight, I'm guessin'. Who had the beef with you?"

Jonathan sighed. "I have no idea. Just a couple of thugs. Got a load of verbal off them. They ran off with my bag after they'd knocked me around a bit. I found it where it'd been dumped a couple of streets away, half of my stuff strewn about and my wallet gone. Not that there was anything much in it. But it was leather – Aspinal. Maybe it'd buy them something to stick up their noses, I don't know."

"An' how you doin'? Looked earlier like you'd got some pain. You need somethin' for that?"

Automatically, Jonathan's hand went to his lower back as he explained, "No, no. Just bruised kidneys and a sore stomach. It's wearing off already."

"He's been on painkillers for ages. He practically rattles when he walks," said Harry, rolling her eyes with a half smile. "I'm sure he could sort you out with something."

"It's prescription meds, babe, it ain't candy."

Her joke had obviously fallen flat but it went seemingly unnoticed by Jonathan who asked, "Nothing serious?"

"Just a shoulder injury. Been slow to heal." He gestured to Jonathan's face. "Lucky the nose there ain't busted. You'll live to fight another day, huh?" Dempsey broke into a grin. "Jus' remember to keep dem dukes up next time, okay?" He raised his right fist, feigning a lazy mid air punch.

"Not really my style I'm afraid. I'll just have to learn to run faster, won't I?"

The two men laughed but Harry was finding it hard to see the humour in the situation. Jonathan had been through an awful lot and the trauma of tonight's experience was maybe more than his gentle soul could take.

"Well, I'm sorry Jonathan but this is ridiculous. You can't go on like this."

She stood up and began clearing their plates away, Jonathan immediately getting up to help. "You'll just have to stop here until you get yourself back on your feet," she said matter-of-factly.

He shook his head. "The very reason I hadn't intended getting in touch. I'm not about to turn your life upside down so no," he said firmly, "one night is all I need."

"And never mind that I haven't seen you for almost five years. How are we supposed to catch up in a couple of hours?" Harry demanded.

"I'll put it all on a Maxell 60."

Harry burst out laughing. "Perfect! God, those were the days, weren't they?"

"Remember The Logical Song?" he asked warmly.

Her hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "How could I forget? You practically lobotomised me with it. The Logical Song was the entire 'A' side and the 'B' side was..."

"The Pina Colada Song," they chorused together, laughing even harder.

Harry caught the look of bemusement on Dempsey's face.

"Jonathan used to make me mix tapes," she explained happily, "a long time ago in the days when Robert and I were still just dating. I was mad about The Logical Song and Escape - you know, The Pina Colada Song, so Jonathan made a whole tape of just those two songs."

"The Pina Colada Song?" Dempsey smirked. "Wouldn't of thought that was your style."

"Well then, that just shows what you know," she teased, wrinkling her nose at him fondly.

If they had been alone, Dempsey would have tapped a playful finger against that nose... but then, if they'd have been alone, he wouldn't be feeling this itchy about some guy making her mix tapes way back when.

They'd been good friends, he recognised that – buddies. And when her marriage had ended, so had the friendship. But he'd come back into her life at the worst possible time as far as Dempsey was concerned. Now that he finally had her, he really didn't want to share.

"Anyway," said Jonathan, "I think it must be about now I get to hear all about Christmas in September."


	9. Floor To Ceiling

**Managed another chapter. Can't believe how fast** **some of the others write - always takes me an age!**

 **Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, fav'ing and following 'cause you know I really appreciate it XXX**

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Chapter 9

Okay so Jonathan Makepeace was a nice guy, Dempsey had to grudgingly admit.

He'd recognised the irritation the music cassette conversation had provoked and deliberately pulled things around to a different topic. Lucky for him, Harry hadn't been aware of his shortcomings, least he didn't think so 'cause she'd only had eyes for Jonathan these past fifteen minutes.

Now that was just plain juvenile! Of course she was paying him attention, he was an old friend who'd gotten into difficulties.

Dempsey knew he had to snap out of this. Not only was it unnecessary, he wasn't doing himself any favours; Harry wasn't the kind of woman to appreciate jealousy.

"Ah. Yes. Christmas in September," said Harry, drawing the words out slowly as she stalled for time. She glanced at Dempsey, giving him a look which said, 'Don't you dare leave this one all to me'.

Jonathan laughed. "Is it horribly embarrassing? Sorry, I won't pry, it's just that it was impossible not to ask. It is rather in ones' face."

But not to give an explanation now would make it even more embarrassing.

"See, Harry and me, we been colleagues for a good while now – like four years..." Dempsey began.

"Oh, I see. Of course, you're something to do with the Metropolitan Police now aren't you, Harry? Quite a departure from the Natural History Museum." He returned his attention to Dempsey. "And you work together?"

"Yeah, we got partnered up when I first came to the U.K and..."

"Partnered up?" Jonathan jumped in. "What do you do exactly?"

"We're police detectives, Jonnie." Harry laughed at the look of surprise on his face. "We work for SI-10. It's one of the, shall we say, 'lesser known' departments under the mantle of Scotland Yard."

His mouth opened and closed again, words failing him for the moment. "Goodness me! I had no idea, hence the reason Harriet refers to you by your surname! I'd assumed, obviously very wrongly, that you'd joined the police in some sort of administrative capacity. I should've known better I suppose."

"Hey, it's a fact, she's great at desk work," Dempsey threw in.

Harry turned to him slightly, her hand ever so lightly touching his forearm. "Well one of us has to be, darling."

Okay, she'd used that jokey, snooty tone but she'd called him 'darling' for the very first time. And with somebody else around to hear it! Maybe one day she'd say it and mean it but 'condescending' was a good start as far as he was concerned.

Jonathan asked a few more questions about their work, intrigued by the fact that Harry was a 'real life detective' as he put it and although she answered, she made it clear that her job description really wasn't to be put out there in the public arena.

"And so a workplace romance blossomed," said Jonathan. "How long ago did that happen?"

Dempsey and Harry looked at each other and shared a grin.

"Very recently, actually," said Harry. "We didn't get on at all for quite some time."

"She hated my guts," Dempsey clarified.

"And he thought I was some stuck up little princess who was only around to make the tea and play at Charlie's Angels."

"It's the way you hold a gun, _princess_. You hold it like Farrah - who incidentally and contrary to popular opinion was my least favourite Angel – when you should be holdin' it like Shelley Hack."

Harry was about to protest but Jonathan stepped in. "Shelley Hack was your favourite?" he asked with surprise.

"Nah, I just liked the way she held a gun. I swayed between Jaclyn Smith an' Cheryl Ladd."

"You mean you'd _like_ to have swayed between Jaclyn Smith and Cheryl Ladd," Harry said with a petulance Dempsey found gratifying.

Jonathan laughed. "Every red blooded male has a favourite Angel, Harry. It's one of those inescapable facts like death and taxes."

He looked at Dempsey side on and out of the corner of his mouth, buffooned, "Definitely Jaclyn Smith."

Dempsey winked as he slid an arm around Harry's waist where she stood beside him holding the dirty crockery. "That TV show's for the birds. I got my own angel right here – my Christmas Angel."

She made a show of extracting herself from his embrace. "Please, Dempsey, not on a full stomach," she groaned.

"Ahh, don't knock it, Harry, I've a feeling your chap here actually means it."

"Sure I do!" Dempsey said in a small, hurt voice.

"And I'm sure he doesn't need any encouragement from you, thank you very much," she grinned, pointing an accusing finger Jonathan's way.

"Is it my imagination," her guest asked, draining his glass, "or have we completely gone off at a tangent? I'm still very much in the dark with this Christmas theme."

Dempsey got up and fetched the wine jug, sharing the meagre remainder out between the three of them. "Well, in a nutshell, when Harry an' me decided we had this thing goin' on, I was my usual, charming self..." he bowed theatrically, a hand gesture giving him a dandified air, "an' told her all my Christmases had come at once."

"Oh, bravo,"laughed Jonathan, clapping his hands together.

"So this was kinda the climax to a lot of dumb Christmas related stuff."

Harry cringed a little at the admission and at the private innuendo although his diplomacy had been a welcome relief.

"And then I poll up and ruin your night!" Jonathan shook his head balefully.

"Not at all!" came Harry's dutiful objection. But it certainly wasn't turning out to be as bad as she'd expected when he'd first arrived.

"Hey, I don' know 'bout you but I'm enjoyin' myself here."

And Harry was reminded that, despite his flaws, this was one of the many reasons she loved him - his ability to make the best of a bad situation.

"Jim," Jonathan beamed, "you have no idea! Good company, marvellous food and," he raised his glass, eyeing the contents in puzzlement, "unexpectedly wonderful drink... I feel like a new man." he raised his glass to them. "Cheers."

They clinked glasses and downed the last of the mulled wine.

"Not usually my thing either but I gotta say, this does kinda hit the spot," Dempsey acknowledged.

"That'll be because I overdid the Brandy by a country mile," Harry admitted, presenting them with a virtuous expression. "Shall I make another batch while I'm doing the custard?"

Whilst Harry prepared the next round of food and drink, Jonathan and Dempsey cleared the table of leftovers and between them, even managed the washing up, all this to bouncy Christmas pop music playing in the background.

And so it was at 3:00am, with them having laughed themselves silly over the pathetic jokes from the Christmas crackers and their inebriated, fruitless attempts to master the cheap plastic puzzle contained within one of them; Dempsey's story of a peculiar episode involving a mortuary attendant, a frozen turkey, three men of the cloth and seven New York cops back on Christmas Eve 1976, (which Harry had heard on numerous occasions but the way he told it, still found entertaining) and an enthusiastic sing along with most of the Christmas tracks played, that they finally paused for reflection.

"I truly can't remember the last time I laughed this much," Jonathan sighed contentedly, his speech a little slurred. "It's been a bloody good night."

"Hear, hear." Harry lifted her glass. "To a bloody good night."

"A bloody good night, spattered floor to ceiling," Dempsey agreed.

Glasses crashed together, exuberantly.

A giggling "Oops" from Harry and then a chorused "cheers" all round.

"Happy New Years," Dempsey called out.

"Oh, we seem to have moved on a bit," laughed Jonathan.

They were in the lounge now, Dempsey sitting sprawled at one end of the sofa nearest the window, Jonathan at the other end and Harry sitting between them on the floor.

"I feel very, very under-dressed for New Year," Harry complained. "I'm considering getting changed into something more suitable."

Her cut-glass accent could now cut diamonds, a side-effect of alcohol which always tickled Dempsey.

"Don' worry 'bout that, princess, it's bedtime."

"Party pooper!" She shot him an accusing look over her shoulder.

"Hey, I've been called a lot o' things in my time," he raised an emphatic finger, "but lemme tell ya, I ain't never been called no party pooper."

"Now that, Sir, I can believe," Jonathan said, his head tilted back so that it rested on the back of the sofa. "You certainly ain't." He grinned broadly as he let his eyes drift shut. "Whereas I, on the other hand..."

"Hey, Jonnie!" Dempsey reached across, almost tumbling off the sofa as he did so. "Hey, pal? You fallin' asleep on us?" He clamped his hand to Jonathan's jaw and waggled his head from side to side.

"I'm jus' resting my eyelids," Jonathan mumbled, a beautific smile indicating he was half way to dreamland already. A gentle snoring ensued only moments later.

"Sure you are, Sleepin' Beauty."

He flopped down onto his chest and turned his head so that he was almost cheek to cheek with Harry as she looked on, pouting. "Jus' you an' me now, babe."

"Well it's a damned god job it isn't New Year's Eve otherwise he'd have spoilt our snowball fight, wouldn't he?"

Dempsey let the words sink in, needing to mull them over before asking, "What snowball fight?"

"The snowball fight we'd be having if it really was New Year's Eve," she said as though it was all so obvious.

He stroked his fingers through her silky blonde locks. "I'm impressed."

"By what?"

"The fact you can predict heavy snowfall on a future New Year's Eve, on a pretend Christmas night, in our fake calendar."

"Just one of my many hidden talents."

Their lips were only millimetres apart now.

"Bet I can uncover a few more."

It was a warm, torpid kiss, made passive by wine and their approaching drowsiness.

"Oh, I'll bet you can," Harry smirked but then in an overly exaggerated whisper, her eyes darting to the side, "but we have a guest."

Suddenly, she leapt up. "Of course the odds are ridiculously low but there's always the chance of snow on Christmas Day."

Harry was at the window now and threw back the curtains expectantly. Dempsey sidled up behind her, laughing as he wrapped her in his arms.

"Oh, it's still bloody raining!" she cried."

"'An' besides, we've already flipped over into Boxing Day, am I right?"

"Good God, James, now it's my turn to be impressed. Boxing Day! I think that's the first time I've heard you refer to December the twenty sixth as anything other than the day after Christmas Day."

Dempsey stood with his cheek pressed against her neck, breathing in the now faint smell of her perfume, looking up to meet her eyes in the reflection of the glass. Their image became superimposed on the view of the outside world and the darkness was made starkly black by the reflected light. It swallowed up the expanse of driveway; the cars, the old sycamore trees that partially fronted the property and the stretch of main road, relatively quiet at this time of the morning, save for the occasional taxi.

"My first Christmas on British soil, I thought families got together to sit around the TV watchin' some Commonwealth Championship Boxing League deal or somethin'."

Harry crossed her hands to hold onto Dempsey's forearms. "I'm afraid I can't blame you for that. I don't believe half the population knows the reason for Boxing Day."

"Maybe that's 'cause most of 'em don't have servants," he told her wolfishly.

She slapped his left arm. "This isn't medieval England, Dempsey," she reprimanded, "the upper classes keep a staff, they don't have servants."

"Is that so?" he asked in an overstated fashion. He knew that perfectly well. They'd had the conversation once before and he hadn't forgotten – it was just that it was a hoot to yank her chain, especially when she'd drunk too much.

"You know perfectly well it is," she began and then tried to shrug him off, giggling as he nuzzled into her neck.

"What say we cut this party an' go find ourselves somethin' else to do."

Boldly, his hands explored her body. Alcohol had taken away the careful tenderness of earlier and instead left him with a sanguine confidence that his own immediate desires would be mirrored in her.

Harry leaned back to look at the sleeping visitor.

"What about Jonathan?"

Thankfully, she didn't sound overly concerned.

"He's out for the count," he assured her.

She'd managed to wipe out more than twenty years credence at the start of the night. He'd felt as though he were practically back to those early days when the horror of ineptitude loomed large; when pace and pressure were frightening organic gauges and the climactic moan on a girls lips was the sound of God speaking to him. It was scary she could make him feel that way again, that 'getting it right' had been, for that short while, the most important thing in the world to him. But now he'd proved himself worthy, that shadowy anxiety had faded away.

As his touch became imprudent, Harry turned herself in his arms, her body compliant with sensuality, blue eyes swimmy with wine and mischief.

"Did you mention it was time for bed, Lieutenant?"

"We can have a New Years party all of our own, Sergeant." He watched in the blackened glass as she trailed her fingers over his collar bone, her lips parting in anticipation. "An' if you're still feelin' uncomfortable in the jeans, I think that birthday suit of yours looks pretty phenomenal."

"Oooh, that sounds like you're planning to take advantage of me. You do realise I've had far too much to drink, don't you?" she asked with a giggly sort of hiccough.

"Enough for _you_ to take advantage of _me_ , maybe?"

She gave him a half smile that powered through him like Cupid's arrow.

"What's that saying of yours, James? You never know when you might get lucky?"

She turned away from him, drawing the curtains shut again before grabbing his hand and dragging him away towards the sleeping Jonathan.

"Whadya doin'?" Dempsey whispered. "He's okay."

Harry was shaking him gently to no effect. She tried harder, calling his name and finally his eyes rolled open, a vacant smile giving him a look of innocence. "Bedtime, Jonnie," she said loudly.

The smile broadened. "Goodnight, sweet Harriet."

He made no attempt to move, even when she tried half-heartedly to drag him from the sofa.

"Your futon awaits. Come on, up you get."

"No, no. I don't want to put you to any..." His eyes closed again, "...trouble," he managed before he fell back into his alcohol induced slumber.

"You see?" Dempsey grinned. "He's okay where he is."

"We can't leave him here!"

"You serious?" he asked, feeling a sudden crabbiness bite. "It was always good enough for me."

Letting go of Harry's hand, he grabbed both of Jonathan's ankles and lifted his legs up and across, yanking him down the sofa so that his head rested on the arm.

"Enjoy, pal."

"Dempsey!" she tutted but only laughed, fortunately failing to see his attitude as anything other than horse play. "Anyway, I always felt it more prudent to keep you down here. Having a staircase between us kept temptation at bay."

There was a neatly folded woollen throw over the back of the other sofa on the opposite side which Harry took and covered him with.

"Night, night Jonnie," she sang, shrieking when Dempsey's arm around her waist yanked her backwards. She shushed herself, giggling.

"My turn to be tucked in, princess," he growled, the moment of animosity having passed as quickly as it had come upon him.

When the lights went out, the occupants of the dark blue Allegro parked across the street decided that that was it for the night.

"Don't get it," said Don, searching in the pocket of his sports jacket for his Silk Cut and lighter. "He might be a toff but he still stinks just like the rest o' them dirty bleedin' 'omeless sorts. How can he crawl in off the street an' into the arms of a bird like that?"

"Dunno," replied his older associate, Gerry, "but if it's eau de tramp that does it for 'er, gimme a flamin' gallon of the stuff!"

He chuckled, his eyes still on the darkened bay window.

Like Jonathan, they too had failed to realise that the owner of the grey Mercedes convertible parked several feet to the left of the white Cabriolet was actually visiting the attractive blonde and had nothing whatsoever to do with the neighbouring property.

Even though the rain had settled down to a fine drizzle now, at this distance away and partially obscured by Harry, they had assume that the man must be the same one they had followed and seen gaining admittance at two minutes to eleven.

"You get yer 'ead down for a couple of hours, Gerry, I'll take the first shift. No dirty dreams now mind," Don grinned, cranking down the window a couple of inches as smoke plumed from his cigarette.

"Come on, mate, dreams is all I got these days," Gerry laughed.


	10. When The Night Meets The Morning Sun

Sorry it's been a while but sadly, the mother-in-law died very recently so there's been other stuff on my mind.

Thanks to all those who are reviewing, you lovely lot. Every time I get a review notification pop up, it truly makes my day!

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Chapter 10

 **When The Night Meets The Morning Sun**

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Harry didn't have a headache exactly, it was more a potential for one.

She lay with her eyes closed, still somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Pieces of the previous night wandered through her mind like friendly ghosts, looming up close to then drift away.

She could taste brandy on her tongue and recalled the three of them had finished the night sharing a bottle of Frapin Cognac she had been given as a gift, ironically, last Christmas.

Jonathan had been left on the sofa, hadn't he? For some reason, that stirred up an uneasy feeling yet she had no idea why. Maybe just for the fact that he had been in the house when she and Dempsey had... God, how loud had she been? She had a feeling the answer was 'shamelessly'.

She focussed on her body, aware of the way her limbs felt, satiated and spent, the duvet sensitising her skin where it touched. But what she couldn't feel was another body beside her. There was no radiating warmth, no pressure of another's body pressed against hers or wrapped around her.

She opened her eyes finally, at the same time turning herself over onto the area of mattress where the 'another' should be. Finding only emptiness, she tentatively hitched her knee up in search of body heat but the place where he had laid was stone cold.

Disappointment twisted around her heart, squeezing hard to wring out the drops of panic that forced her to sit bolt upright, clutching the quilt against her chest as she automatically looked to her side. He'd gone! He'd actually gone! Her heart was now hammering hard in her throat and holding her breath, she strained to listen for sounds of life outside of the bedroom. He wouldn't do that to her, he just wouldn't scuttle away like a thief in the night, no matter what the reason. Their relationship was built on solid foundations and last night had simply cemented that relationship; brought them closer, made them stronger, made them one. She knew he wouldn't walk out on that.

Harry drew her knees up and fluffed her hair through her fingers. She was being silly. Dempsey was downstairs, probably making coffee or even breakfast in bed for them. How could she even think he'd left?

But still that tiny speck of doubt continued to nibble at her insecurities and the quiet of the house hung darkly about her.

Harry checked the alarm clock beside her. Just gone 11:30am! Still, it was Sunday and as by her estimation, it must've been well after four in the morning when they eventually slept, 11:30am wasn't too awful. Now she had to get out of bed and discover exactly where Dempsey had got to.

Finding a calf-length 'sensible' dressing gown, Harry paid a visit to the bathroom before venturing downstairs. She could see Jonathan stretched out on the sofa as she went past to the kitchen and found Dempsey at the small, round breakfast table, studying the cylindrical container he was turning around and around in his hands.

"Morning," she said softly, relief lifting a weight from her shoulders and suddenly acutely aware that this was the morning after the night before.

Rarely had Harry seen him startled but this was one such occasion.

"Hi," he said, sitting up straight in his chair, the white tub of pills going down on the table top to be half covered by a cupped hand. But then, as though thinking better of it, he picked it up again and nonchalantly transferred it to the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Getcha a coffee?" he asked, the scraping of the chair legs on the floor as he stood up jarring horribly.

"Thanks but I think I'll make a pot of tea." She nodded towards his pocket. "You don't really still need those tablets do you?"

"You wanna tell me why I'd still be taking them if I didn't?" Dempsey asked. There was a smile on his face but irritation in his voice.

He laughed then and took her in his arms. "I got a killer head on my shoulders, couple o' these'll wipe it up. How 'bout you? You feel okay? We sank a few last night, huh?"

"Relatively unscathed, I think."

She regarded him critically. He looked dog-tired; his skin quite ashen and shadows pooling under his eyes. "You look like you could do with a few more hours sleep. How long have you been up?"

Harry rasped her fingernails lightly along the stubble on his cheek, feeling quite sorry for him. If he felt as awful as he appeared, he must be in a bad way.

"An hour, hour an' a half, maybe."

"Couldn't you sleep?"

"Woke up nauseous."

His hands weighed heavy on her hips.

"Were you actually sick?" Harry asked.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and Harry felt some of his weight bearing down.

"A little."

She was surprised, he rarely let booze get the better of him.

She'd have been even more surprised had she seen him lying sprawled against the tiled wall of the bathroom for nearly an hour after he'd wretched up his guts repeatedly.

"Must've been a dodgy brussel sprout then," she teased warmly.

"Yeah, could be."

She got the impression it was a job for him to inject buoyancy into his reply and as he held onto her, his right cheek against hers, she softly joked, "I thought I was one of your hit and run victims."

"That ain't even funny," he said grimly and after a heartbeat's pause, stood up straight to grip her upper arms. "I mean it, Harry. Why'd you even say somethin' like that?"

His eyes bored into hers.

She could see she had genuinely upset him. "James, I was only joking," she demurred. "I just... I just expected you to be there when I woke up. I missed you," she smiled up at him.

His eyes looked darker than they should, his expression almost dazed. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't think. It was our first night together, our first real night. I shoulda been there. I screwed up, didn't I?"

She regarded him worriedly. "It really doesn't matter. You look shattered. Why don't you go back up to bed for a bit?"

"I'm okay. Gonna take a shower – might wake me up."

"If you're sure."

No talk of her joining him either in bed or in the shower, she noticed. This must be one hell of a hangover!

"Sure I'm sure." He slid his hands down to cup her bottom, pulling her against him. "I love you, princess."

Funny how those words made everything better; smoothed over the rough edges and put a sheen on the issues that had marred what should have been such a special time for them.

"I love you too." She couldn't help but smile, like a cat that had got the cream. To think that she would ever be saying those words to Lieutenant Jim Dempsey. She studied his face quizzically for a moment. "You know, you're still quite handsome, even when you're hung over."

"Gee, thanks."

"How much did you actually drink last night?" she marvelled. "You really don't look well, you know."

"I think the answer to that is 'too much'."

His eyes half closed as she stroked his hair back at the temples. "How 'bout you kiss it all better for me?" he murmured sleepily.

What she really, really wanted to do was make them both brunch after they'd showered and dressed and after that, snuggle up on the sofa watching rosewater black and white films all afternoon. Bliss! And when twilight swept the late afternoon sunshine away, to make love into the deep embrace of the night.

But the sofa was currently occupied and there was the possibility that she now had a house guest for the next few days or even longer.

She slid her arms around the back of his neck, for now, content to be enjoying this closeness.

But even that little luxury was short lived when Jonathan walked in on them.

"Good morning, love-birds," he said sheepishly as they turned as one to see him enter the kitchen. "Not only did I bugger up your Saturday night, I appear to be making quite a good job of Sunday morning too."

"Don't sweat it, pal," said Dempsey, releasing Harry somewhat reluctantly, "we just made the p.m. anyways.

Casually, he loped past Jonathan and clapping him on the shoulder, looked back at Harry. "Gonna hit that shower before I take off."

And he was gone, leaving Harry with a wobbly feeling in her chest and unspoken questions coagulating in her mouth.

Jonathan looked to Harry uneasily. "I do hope his going has nothing to do with my being here."

Harry turned away and began busying herself with filling the kettle. "Don't be silly. He's got stuff to do at his place, that's all," she told him confidently.

 _Like what, washing his hair? Feeding the cat?_

She felt both angry and wretched at the same time. Dempsey was annoyed and she could understand that but walking away surely wasn't the answer. And he must know she couldn't possibly have turned Jonathan away because he would have done exactly the same in her position. Still, if he was feeling rough, sitting around making small talk wasn't ideal.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked brightly. "Dempsey's already made a pot of coffee but I'm having tea so your choice."

"Tea would be marvellous."

She dropped teabags into the pot and went to the fridge.

"How did you sleep?"

"I have no idea," Jonathan laughed, "I was dead to the world until ten minutes ago. How about you?"

"Fine. And surprisingly, I don't feel too bad now, considering how much we had to drink last night."

The water boiled and Harry made the tea.

"I can only guess what we drank, I honestly don't remember anything beyond finishing the mulled wine and you cracking open that bottle of brandy."

"Sorry about leaving you on the sofa but you wouldn't budge."

"Oh, it was heaven, I can assure you."

Harry put the teapot on the table. "Come and sit down."

He did as she asked and she poured their tea out, the little curls of steam rising up from the cups, a brackish reminder that Dempsey was upstairs showering, preparing to go back to his flat.

"The spare room's ready anyway so you'll have a bed of sorts tonight."

"You're an angel but I'm not going to impose another night."

"And where exactly will you go then?" She watched him stir sugar into his tea. "Back to Covent Garden tube station?" Her sententious words reflected the morose feeling which bubbled up threateningly inside her.

"You've already done more than enough for me. There's..."

"You're staying and that's all there is to it."

Jonathan smiled, dipping his head as he pushed back his over-long hair. "I'd almost forgotten how feisty you can be when you're riled," he said, taking a sip from his cup.

"Oh, she's feisty alright."

Dempsey walked in looking brighter if a little pale and the dark smudges beneath his eyes told of his lack of sleep.

"Borderline rabid on a full moon!"

He came and slumped down in a chair, close enough for Harry to gently cuff the back of his head.

"You're so rude, Dempsey! I don't know why I put up with you."

He sneaked her a self-satisfied grin which said, " _We both know why you put up with me_ " and her mild annoyance with him melted away in the warmth of his loving eyes. But the trouble was, it made his imminent departure even less welcome.

"Did the shower work its magic?" Jonathan asked. "Always tricky isn't it – the morning after the night before."

Dempsey picked up his coffee cup, about to absently bring it to his lips before he realised that the inch or so that remained was obviously going to be stone cold.

"Yep. Feel like a new man."

He got to his feet and went to pour himself another from the glass cafetière

Those positive words didn't quite ring true to Harry's mind. He'd definitely overdone it last night.

"Alright if I use the bathroom next?" asked Jonathan.

"Course," said Harry. "There's no rush. Oh and I remembered to take your clothes out of the dryer whilst I still had the wherewithal last night."

She went to the small utility room just off the kitchen and came back with a neatly folded stack of clean clothing. "You may as well take them up with you. Second door on the right at the top of the stairs – just next to the bathroom," she told him pointedly.

He was about to decline again but caught himself.

"Thank you," he told her with sincerity, giving her a defeated but warm smile which encompassed Dempsey also. With his tea in one hand and the clothes hanging over his left arm, he went to collect his rucksack from the lounge before heading off upstairs.

There was a short silence between Harry and Dempsey, a silence which felt mildly awkward.

"What time were you thinking of going?" Harry asked, trying to sound unconcerned. It actually came out sounding rather curt.

"Whenever. I'll drink my coffee and be on my way... catch up on some zees."

She watched his thumb as it gently stroked over the top of the cup handle. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Was he blaming her for the way it had turned out, for insisting that Jonathan stay? He'd refused the invitation but for Dempsey's sake, should she have left it at that rather than insisting? She should have put him first, shouldn't she?

"Okay," she said quietly, reaching out to trail a finger along the back of his hand.

"Don't gimme those eyes," he warned, seeing how her blue eyes had turned melancholy. "You know same as me that three ain't a cosy mix. If one of us is gonna be the spare wheel, I'd rather it wasn't me, ya now."

"You'd hardly be that." She continued to tease her finger over his hand, both of them watching the action.

"Yeah, well, I ain't too friendly around strangers when I feel like shit so believe me, it's better I should go."

"I'm not a stranger," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure you could be nice to me if you tried," she added with a suggestive lilt.

He smiled, his hand relinquishing the mug to close his fingers around hers and bring them to his lips.

"I could be nice to you all day long, princess." He grazed her knuckles against his bottom lip. "Only you got yourself a house guest an' even if you didn't, I think I'd be a wash-out in the sack, the way I feel right now."

Harry thrilled at the hot, tingly feeling that pulsed through her as his warm breath stole over her skin.

"Really, Dempsey," she smirked, "I want you here for more than just your body, you know."

You do?" he joked tiredly.

Harry nodded. "Unbelievable, isn't it?"

And then he slid her hand up to rub against his cheek, his eyes shutting momentarily and she felt choked by the intense rush of love that rose up.

 _Please don't go!_ she wanted to cry out. _Stay here with me_. But he had his reasons for leaving and she wasn't about to try to force him into staying.

* * *

Wearing his newly washed clothes and with his rucksack on his back, Jonathan made his way stealthily down the stairs. He could hear the quiet burr of an intimate conversation taking place in the kitchen and knew he was making the right decision. He felt so much better this morning and despite the excesses of the previous night, his head felt clearer. Harriet had been appalled that he hadn't sought help from friends but at the time he hadn't been in a position mentally to fight for himself. Just being 'normal again, if only for a few hours, had been the boost he needed and he would never be able to thank her enough for that. But it was clear he had picked the wrong time to descend upon her.

This afternoon, he was clean and presentable and still with a modestly full belly from last night, he felt capable of taking control of his life again.

Mike Campbell – they'd worked together a few years ago at Oyster Marketing before Jonathan had started the consultancy business. They had been good friends, a great team, bouncing ideas off each other and getting themselves noticed. When it had come down to it though, Mike hadn't been happy about giving up the security of the agency so Jonathan had made the decision to go it alone instead of going into partnership. And it had worked well, the business had been a success up until six months ago when it seemed to all go so horribly wrong.

But he and Mike had stayed in touch, met up for a drink every few weeks and the occasional 'big night out'. He could go to his place; he felt confident enough now to confess his troubles, talk it over and maybe even ask for help.

"Bless you, Harriet," he whispered under his breath as he let himself out of the front door and strode across the drive.

* * *

"Wake up, sunshine!"

Don wasn't actually asleep but he might as well have been for all the attention he was paying. His head was buried in a copy of The Sun as he shovelled steak and kidney pie, chips and gravy into his mouth from a paper tray balanced on his palm. Gerry had been just about to take his turn visiting the local amenities when Jonathan Makepeace had stepped outside into the weak sunshine and walked right past the car. Their long vigil was over at last and Gerry turned the engine over in anticipation of the pursuit.


	11. Mashed Potato

**Feliz Navidad!**

 **Hope you all had a great Xmas. I'm posting this chapter from my hotel room on Tenerife. Flew out here on Xmas Day which was quite exciting. First time I've ever spent it away from home but I'm loving it.**

 **So I'm afraid this isn't a particularly thrilling, interesting, sexy or romantic chapter, considering it's a special time of year but I'll be busy scribbling poolside during some of my holiday, I promise and hoping to be inspired in some way ㈶0**

 **Chapter 11**

"'ow much bloody longer?" Don complained. "'e's been on that bus a good forty minutes already!"

Gerald kept his eyes on the road and his hands firmly at ten to two. "What you moanin' about? You're just sittin' there watchin' the world go by, it's me what's doin' the tailin', mate."

"Not 'ard, is it?" Don asked caustically. "It's a big red double decker. Not gonna lose that in an 'urry."

"Yeah an' that hour keepin' track of 'im on the streets was an absolute doddle weren't it?"

"'ere we go, Ger," Don jabbed enthusiastically at the windscreen when the bus pulled into the next stop and they caught sight of Makepeace standing at the rear of the bus as he waited to get off.

They were in West Wimbledon. Not a part of London either of them was familiar with but the residential area was open and spacious with wide, tree-lined pavements and high, well manicured hedges separating the semi-detached 1930's properties and it was very easy now to follow Makepeace, in fact, maybe too easy, the car being to much too visible.

At one point, Makepeace seemed to be lost and and doubled back on himself, walking back up to the main road to take the next road up, Wentworth Gardens. At number 74, he stopped and looked at the house, appearing to take stock of the place for a second.

"Come on, mate, make yer mind up," Don grumbled, anxious for some sort of conclusion to this job. He was tired but knew it would still be a good while yet before he saw his bed – they had to report back to their employer and find out if he wanted anything more from them before payment would be issued. They'd already been given a pony each plus expenses with the promise of another ton a piece tonight. For some reason though, that made Don nervous. It was a lot of dosh for not that much effort. Wasn't like it was anything illegal, unlike the pasting they'd given the mark the night before but a spot of GBH, that was nothing really.

They watched him go up to the white painted front door screen and ring the bell, taking a step back and tracing a finger over the stained glass whilst he waited idley. He rang again, this time shoving his hands into his pockets and gazing about him, taking in the rhoddedendron bush behind him and the scattering of early fallen leaves on the path from next doors oak.

"No one 'ome," Gerry observed aloud.

"Great! That'll mean more trekking around London." Gerry slumped back with a sigh, his eyes still on Makepeace though. "'less 'e goes back to that bird's place."

"Don't know why 'e left in the first place, fine bit o' stuff like that," smirked Don.

"Well maybe 'e's got another one lined up at this gaff."

Don laughed loudly. "Tell you what, if you're right, I'm jackin' in me flat and takin' to the streets."

Makepeace was just about to give up when he spotted movement behind the leaded glasswork and a shape approached..

Michael Campbell opened the door, pleasantly surprised to find his friend, whom he hadn't seen for a good couple of months or so on his doorstep.

"Jonathan! How great to see you! Come in." He pulled him over the doorstep enthusiastically. "Believe it or not, I was only thinking about you the other day. How's it going, matey?"

The warm reception felt like a head start. Maybe things really were on the up now.

* * *

"He's gone."

Harry came back into the kitchen carrying the empty cup she'd found on the chest of drawers in the spare room.

"Like in _vamoose_?" Dempsey asked.

"Is there any other kind? He left a note."

She held up a small scrap of paper which appeared to have been torn out of a notebook. It simply read, 'Thank you, sweet Harriet'.

Dempsey shrugged. "You couldn't of done no more for the guy. Looks like he just didn't feel comfortable stayin' longer."

Harry bit down on her lower lip. "I supppose he just felt a bit awkward with you being here and..."

"Hey, I already said I was goin' back home!" he snapped. "I gave him the clothes off of my back! He was pissed I didn't give him my place in your bed maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Harry looked at him aghast, more than a little surprised at his unpleasant attitude.

But Dempsey was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry..." His elbows rested on the table and he let his head drop forward into his hands. "I'm sorry, babe. That was a stupid thing to say an' I apologise, okay?" He looked up, dragging his fingers through his hair and offered her a weak smile. "What did I tell ya? Too much booze, not enough sleep – I ain't a nice person to be around."

"Hmmm." She gave him a half reproachful, half forgiving smile."

"Least I'd stuck around to say my goodbyes."

"So now you can leave with a clear conscience," she told him mildly.

"Couldn't I stick around a while – now you don't have no guest for me to chew out? I know for a fact you can take care of yourself if I should get a little too grouchy."

So he did actually _want_ to stay. That was nice to know.

"Only if you promise to go back to bed for a while."

She dropped Jonathan's note beside the teapot and resumed her seat.

"Alone?" Dempsey asked with an uplifted eyebrow.

"Yes, Dempsey – alone."

He leaned his forearm on the table and bent his head towards her. They were only inches apart and the atmosphere was suddenly changed.

"Wouldn't that kinda be missing the point of my bein' here?"

"The point?" she asked. He'd practically declared himself incapable half an hour ago.

"Yeah. Me up there, you down here. What happened to togetherness?"

"I'm not the one with the hangover from hell."

She could smell the shampoo in his still-damp hair. She couldn't quite name the feeling it brought her; a sense of completeness maybe, like he was truly a part of her life, there to share all the small, mundane aspects with like brushing teeth and pointing out that they were down to the last couple of eggs at breakfast. She wanted to experience this kind of 'comfortable' with a man again.

"Now my couch has a vacancy, we could snuggle up and watch some TV. Maybe they'll be showin' White Christmas."

So he hadn't made a miraculous recovery now that Jonathan was gone and that made her feel that bit better about his earlier vindictive snipe at him.

Harry laughed. " _Your_ couch?" And then playing along, pretended to suddenly see the light. "Ohhhhh, I see. You've claimed squatters rights!"

A grin spread across Dempsey's pale but now clean shaven face. "Yeah, you see, you got it."

"I'll make sure your cushions are plumped next time you stay over then," she teased.

Dempsey looked deep into her eyes, a loving mellowness holding her captivated.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked.

Harry leaned in even closer, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. "Sounds like it, doesn't it?"

"That's good. Guess the Grinch didn't ruin Christmas totally."

"And what is the Grinch, exactly?" Harry asked, suspecting she was being lead up the garden path.

"You tellin' me you ain't never heard o' the Grinch?"

His enthusiasm sang out in his voice but, Harry observed, that mellowness in his eyes didn't folow suit.

"I'm afraid not. Am I missing something important?"

"How 'bout Dr. Seuss? You heard of him, right?"

Harry sat up. That at least rang a bell. "Isn't he a child psychologist or something?" Her finger rose up as she remembered the connection. "The Cat In The Hat! He wrote the children's books!"

Dempsey laughed. "Right! An' he also wrote about The Grinch Who Stole Christmas; this character who tried to screw up Christmas for the townsfolk of Whoville."

"Whoville?"

"Whoville." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "But that part isn't important, I'm just happy we're okay."

Harry stood up, his arms wrapping around her body automatically as she held his head to her chest.

"Why wouldn't we be?" She stroked his damp hair, loving the feel of it between her fingers.

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley," he purred, his face resting heavily against her breast.

"To A Mouse – quoted correctly!" Harry smiled.

"Yeah. I had a thing for Steinbeck for a time back when I was in school. I learned the Burns poem kind of as an off-shoot."

Dempsey really was full of surprises and she loved him for it.

"Do you still remember it?"

"Some parts, I guess."

"You can think about it whilst I'm showering then and I might get you to recite it later" she laughed, patting the back of his head as she pulled out of his embrace.

"Hurry back, princess, that couch is callin' my name and it's soundin' kinda like a lullabye right now."

He gave her behind a part slap, part squeeze, part push as she turned away and Harry was amazed by how right that somewhat possessive gesture felt.

* * *

Gerry pushed his way through the door, the younger, leaner Don bringing up the rear.

They were met with a wall of noise; the general background hum of a crowd of people overlaid with the pop beat of current chart music playing on the jukebox.

Annoying, braying laughter rang out from a table in the middle of the room and the strident voice of a fifty something tart who had downed one Vodka and orange too many came from the huddle standing at the bar.

"You see 'im?" Don asked as they made their way to the bar.

The air was silvery grey with tobacco smoke but the question didn't strike with of the as ironic because The Night Watchman public house was no different to their own haunts in Hackney; same watered down spirits, same stale smell, same rough-edged clientele.

"Not yet," Gerry confirmed, turning with his back to the bar as he scanned the room, one foot up casually on the foot rail and elbows resting on the bar top.

Two pints of Fosters, darlin'" Don asked of the disinterested barmaid.

His eyes slowly travelled around, working the room as though it were a clock face when at five o'clock he flinched inwardly. A pair of slate grey eyes were fixed upon him and Gerry got the idea that they had been observed since the moment they'd arrived.

He turned back to the bar.

"'e's 'ere. To your left, next to the fireplace. Should we get 'im one in d'you reckon?"

"No chance," Don scoffed. "'e owes _us_ , remember. Besides, don't know what 'e drinks, do we?"

Gerry picked up his pint as Don said, "I'd take a guess at Babysham, long streak o' piss that 'e is," he grinned.

His partner chuckled. "Now, now, Gerald, that's out employer you're bad-mouthing, keep a civil tongue in yer 'ead – least 'til we got paid."

Don pocketed his change and they wended their way to the table by the fireplace.

"Evenin', Mr Makepeace," said Gerry, cordially. "Can I get you another?"


	12. I Spy

**It's been weeks since I last posted a chapter and you've probably forgotten the plot (I use the term loosely) by now. Had total scribbler's block and you'll no doubt be able to tell by the state of this chapter. Really not good but it's all I could manage so if you have a blank expression on your face when you've finished reading, I completely understand :-(**

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Robert Makepeace was many things but 'happy' wasn't one of them.

When his brother, Jonathan, his younger sibling by three years, had first disappeared off the radar, it had worried him immensely. As the concerned big brother, he had tried his best to track him down, talking to other family members, his friends and acquaintances, former employees and anyone else he could think of. Eventually, he went to the police and filed a missing persons report and of course, with his connections within the service, he was clearly the right man to handle the situation.

At least, this was the story he'd told those who had asked.

Jonnie's estranged wife, Sabrina, had been relatively easy to fob off. As weak as dishwater that one. Not bad in bed though.

 _He's probably just decided he needs to get away from it all... no, f course he wouldn't have done anything silly... I was as much to blame for what happened between us as you... don't worry now, you can leave it all to me, Sabrina._

Robert would handle everything.

Now back at the place he called home, a smart little flat in Chelsea where he currently lived alone, he sat at the big bay window and watched the comings and goings in the street below with unseeing eyes.

His dear little brother and his ex-wife?! Maybe it shouldn't be that much of a surprise, after all, they had been as thick as thieves throughout the entire marriage. During those three years, Robert had never really suspected anything had or would happen between them but nevertheless, their close friendship had given rise to a certain amount of jealousy on his part. And yes, he had warned Harriet off, informing her in no uncertain terms that she should be aware that to the outside world, her and Jonathan's relationship could easily be misconstrued. In his opinion, the familiarity they showed within their 'platonic' relationship was inappropriate.

" _Maybe you married the wrong brother, Harriet"_ he had suggested with saccharine sarcasm on more than one occasion.

And now here was Jonathan, pulling himself up out of the gutter via the not inconsiderable charms of his ex and it made his blood boil. Those assurances of innocence from both parties now held no water. There had quite obviously been something there, bubbling away between the pair of them and Robert was damned if he would let it go unpunished.

He had deliberately kept out of his ex-wife's way these last few years and he suspected she had done the same. They both had done and said things they weren't proud of, things which neither of them wished to be made common knowledge and so when they had split, it had been to sever all ties. Funny really but their paths hadn't crossed once, not in all of the four and a half years they had been apart. Of course, Robert had heard the odd thing or two via mutual acquaintances, stories of events hosted by his ex-father-in-law at Winfield Hall for example. Old Freddy had never been a fan of his but at the start, it hadn't particularly been an issue because his wife had been head over heels in love and no longer in _daddy's_ thrall. If Freddy's accusations of manipulation had been true, it was only to get Harry out of his suffocating clutches.

The old man doted on her to a ridiculous extent. He should have remarried after Harry's mother had died all those years ago instead of holding her to him like he was frightened she would die too.

Robert had always considered Freddy partly to blame for the breakdown of the marriage – he should have kept his interfering old beak out of it, always dripping his poison in her ear, making Robert out to be some sort of gold digger when all he was doing was protecting his family interests. His wife was the sole heir to a huge estate and therefore had a vested interest. Robert was a solicitor. What else did he expect?

He had loved her for a while, until she had started raising objections to every little thing that didn't suit. But when that had extended to the bedroom, who could blame him for looking elsewhere?

"There are limits, Robert!" she had told him, suddenly all prissy when he'd suggested inviting her best friend, Susanne into their bed. So he'd sampled Susanne's delights without her out of spite really. How was he to know Harry had been pregnant? He would have made allowances. But she, the vindictive little bitch, had aborted his child without a second thought simply to get back at him and for that, he would never forgive her.

He'd seen a photograph recently, taken at a dinner party given by Henry and Michaela Courtauld. Harriet had been there, without a plus one as far as he could tell. He had been completely taken by surprise upon seeing the image of her and by the rush of lust which hit his loins. Interesting how one could still possess the desire to fuck somebody one hated.

Robert got up and poured himself a small whiskey.

Maybe with a little lubrication, he could work out a way to give the pair of them their just deserts.

…...

Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon on bagel.

Brunch had actually moved to lunch, eaten at the coffee table in the lounge and washed down with orange juice.

The Sunday afternoon film on BBC1 was Notorious, the black and white Hitchcock thriller which they had both seen before but as there was little else on of any interest, Harry was happy to watch again and Dempsey was content to sleep through.

She lay warm and snug in his arms, watching the infamous two and a half minute long kiss between Grant and Bergman with slightly aroused interest.

She had heard somewhere that the scene had only got past the production ban on screen kisses being longer than three seconds by having the actors part fleetingly to nuzzle and whisper seductively before recommencing. Although censorship had been stringent in 1946, there was no doubting the chaste eroticism of that kiss within the context of the period.

"They knew how to smooch back then, huh?"

Harry turned her head a fraction. "I thought you were asleep," she said.

"I was."

"Feeling any better?"

He was lying right behind her along the length of the sofa, her head against his chest and his arms wrapped around her body.

"Yeah. Much better." Dempsey lazily stroked his way from her waist to her hip and on to the top of her thigh.

"Did you take any Codeine yesterday?" she asked after a moment's hesitation. He could be a bit touchy on the subject of pain relief she had come to realise. Maybe he saw the fact he was still using the pills as a weakness on his part. And really, shouldn't his shoulder have healed enough not to need those things at all by now?

"Couple," he admitted off-handedly.

She tutted, smiling up at him as she turned herself onto her back and brought her arms up to cradle his head.

"Well there you go. No wonder you felt so awful. I didn't think you'd had any more to drink last night than me or Jonathan."

"Dumb, huh?"

"Very. Don't do it again!" she warned and strained up to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Okay, boss." Dempsey leaned down and tenderly kissed her mouth. "I like when you're concerned for me."

"I don't like having to be."

"I hear ya."

His hand strayed under the soft, fluffy blue jumper she wore to caress her bare stomach and Harry was immediately aroused.

Feeling her muscles contract, Dempsey continued the action, gliding the pads of his fingertips over the sensitised skin with infinite delicacy, watching her lips part in anticipation of more.

Again, he bent his head to kiss her, this time drawing a tiny whimper of pleasure in the process. He chuckled and to Harry's disappointment, settled back down again behind her.

But his hand remained where it was, still idly stroking only now she couldn't help but notice the little circles he was drawing with his middle finger.

"Gary Grant plays a U.S. Government agent in this movie, right?" Dempsey asked. "And Ingrid Bergman is a Nazi spy?"

It took a moment for Harry to drag her mind back to the plot.

"No, her father was a Nazi spy. She went off the rails a bit until Gary Grant enlisted her to join him in spying on her father's Nazi friends."

He had dipped below the waistband of her chocolate brown corduroy jeans.

"Ah, okay, I remember now, she marries her old flame who's a Nazi sympathiser."

"But she only does it for Uncle Sam because she's actually in love with Cary Grant."

The hollow of her abdomen was now receiving Dempsey's attention.

"Natch," he drawled.

"Rather above and beyond the call of duty, I'd say."

Two fingers slid over her right hip bone.

"You wouldn't marry some ex in defence of the realm? For queen and country? Frankly, Makepeace, I'm shocked," he ribbed.

"I can't think of anything worse than marrying an ex, after all, they become exes for a reason, don't they?"

"That's true."

His palm was wonderfully warm against her skin, his fingers now tunnelling under the elastic of her underwear. "An' I can't think of anything worse than bein' your ex."

"You say that now." Her voice was husky, not quite her own.

He was taking his time, progress painfully slow in order to cause her maximum frustration.

"I've known you long enough to know what I'm getting' into."

She could feel his breath against her ear and his innuendo was apparent as he continued to provoke her desire with his slow, sensual teasing.

"An' I've already met your old man," he continued. "He can stomach me in small doses, right?"

Harry tutted, flexing her hips as she did so. "Yes, alright, Dempsey. Talk about garnering praise! You know full well my father, for reasons best known to himself, has quite a soft spot for you."

"I'm thinkin' you got one for me too. Am I on the right track?"

She squirmed deliciously, "You're definitely heading in the..." her words faltered as she caught her breath, "right direction."

Dempsey gave a low, sultry laugh – the kind of laugh that Harry found extremely sexy.

As she gave herself up to his slow, questing fingers, she marvelled at how overnight, the love she felt for him had metamorphosed into something so tangible, so multifaceted that he now felt a part of her very existence.

Notorious played out to itself and became a monochrome blur as he single-handedly steered Harry into her own personal paradise.


	13. Perks

It's been over a month since I last posted and even in all that time, it's still been a struggle to write this chapter. The creative juices have completely dried up now and it's all got a bit galling. However - it occurred to me the other day that when I was writing One More Bite Of The Apple, I was always listening to music, something I don't tend to do very often these days for some unknown reason. Music is very mood-inspiring and scene-setting so I think I'll crank up the volume and see where it takes me.

This is pretty much just a filler chapter but I'm hoping a few deep and meaningful lyrics will coax out a more exciting Chapter 14.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

As it got later, Harry wondered when Dempsey was planning on going home. Not that she wanted him to, in fact she was reluctant to even give voice to her thoughts for fear of hastening his departure. Should she ask if he was staying for dinner or merely what he would like for dinner? She already had a delay tactic up her sleeve – the taking down of all the Christmas decorations which realistically shouldn't be left up beyond this weekend.

She couldn't quite believe she was thinking this way, like a young girl who had fallen in love for the first time, clingy and anxious. She needed to back off then, be herself, be normal otherwise Dempsey's partner was in danger of becoming his sidekick!

"Think I need coffee," he said succinctly and levered himself up into a sitting position behind her.

In his own mind, he might as well be saying, ' _I need a fix_ ', such was his need to get to the pills in his jacket pocket. He'd felt it building for a while; the nagging pain in his shoulder and the mother of a headache laced with a cloying, nervy sort of desire to get to those painkillers. Shouldn't he be over this thing by now? Hadn't the doc told him only this week that his shoulder had healed well and that if he was still getting some 'residual pain', it was alright to still take a Codeine if he felt he needed it?

Needed it? Christ, he couldn't get by without it!

It was almost like he'd turned into some kind of junkie – only it was painkillers, not coke; he wasn't burning a crack pipe or shooting up with heroin. He'd just gotten a little too familiar with those friendly pink pills, that was all.

"Coffee okay with you?" he asked, squeezing Harry's shoulders as she swung her feet to the floor to make space for him to stand up.

"Mmm, lovely. And if you're staying, I'll make us dinner afterwards," she said casually.

Dempsey mumbled an acceptance as he disappeared into the hallway although Harry failed to catch the "That'd be great, babe" and was left wondering if the offer had been a bad idea.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to Harry's bedroom where his jacket hung across the back of the chair by the window and found the pills.

It was no big deal, he told himself and to prove this point, slipped a couple into the pocket of his sweat pants instead of downing them on the spot.

But it was something he was hiding and keeping secrets from Harry wasn't a great idea, even less so now they'd just moved up the relationship ladder.

It was his own fault of course and he could see that now. It had been the carrot and stick thing; if Harry Makepeace wasn't an incentive to get his shoulder right then he didn't know what was. And he could honestly say it hadn't been just to get into her pants. Okay so that was part of it but he knew it was what Harry wanted too. It had been time; they'd needed that closeness that was only gained through love-making.

And he'd been right, hadn't he? He'd fallen for her all over again last night only it went way deeper now, so deep he could drown in his own love for her.

But there was this 'thing' that had insinuated itself between them… no, that wasn't true, it was his doing, he'd created this problem through weakness and impatience. He'd taken the easy way out when he should've manned up and accepted his lot.

Did she feel that barrier he'd put up? It was made of guilt and fear and shame; a complex mix of emotions that formed a tight ball of anger inside his chest. He didn't want it to be this way, this love he had for Harry, so strong, so intense yet still kept at bay by his own stupid mistakes. And he knew Harry. If she thought he was holding back now, she'd shrink back inside that arctic fur fox coat she wore whenever she felt threatened or at a disadvantage. He'd lose her – for good. You didn't get a second chance with someone like her.

With the need to please her punctuating his thoughts, he pulled out the slim, rectangular box from his inside jacket pocket and took it downstairs with him.

He made the coffee, nerves jangling, his mind playing out the way it should be, the way he wanted to feel versus the way it was and the dull, chemical mantle that shrouded his joy.

The after effects of last nights' excesses were still partly to blame of course but he couldn't use that as an excuse forever.

Dempsey looked down at the little pink pill he held between his fingers as he picked up his coffee cup.

Jesus Christ! He was letting these fucking things run his life now? But what else was he supposed to do when the pain got too much, when he got jittery, when his brain wouldn't focus and turned to mush? He should be healed now, he knew. His doctor knew it too – had been surprised by the level of pain he was still experiencing but had refused to up the dosage.

But Dempsey knew people and it wasn't exactly hard to get whatever you needed out there on the streets and in the less salubrious pubs and bars. It was sitting in The Sacred Scald three nights ago that he had finally admitted to himself that he had a problem. Up until that point, it had been easier to blame the medical profession as a whole for mismanaging his medication. But now he couldn't deny the times, from right at the start when he'd popped a couple pills in between the allotted timescale, when he'd taken an extra one to see him through the night, more when he was sat around his apartment with nothing to occupy his mind but the idea of getting back to normal as fast as possible.

And above everything, paramount in his mind – Harry.

The trip to Cornwall had been the turning point for them; when the floodgates had opened.

The frustration involved in not being able to act on those feelings and knowing that Harry felt the same way was like swarm of hornets buzzing inside his head.

So logic had pretty much flown, his screwed up brain telling him that the more meds he took, the faster he'd heal and be able to meet that deadline date.

Thursday night had been a low point. Twenty minutes early for his date with Pepe Sullivan, so called because of the nature of his business – dispensing 'pep' pills to the needy. Not just 'pep' pills of course, all rounders, weed, nose candy, whatever it was you needed with a cast iron guarantee to fuck up your mind.

Dempsey's requirements were lightweight, prescription drugs without the prescription which made them pretty much legal in Pepe's world. Still, it was all about supply and demand and the four packets of imported 30mg Oxycodone came with a price tag, although cheap compared with Class A.

Dempsey was aware he was walking a fine line. Pepe Sullivan knew he was a cop but Dempsey figured no one was gonna get too aeriated over a few dozen Perks. A slap on the wrist if it reached Spikings' ears maybe and Harry… well that was another story and one that wouldn't make for pleasant reading. He'd made things complicated for himself, that was for sure.

He felt the mental relief pass over him as he washed the pills down with hot, black coffee.

He was set up for another few hours now, at least until it was time to leave – or Harry threw him out.

He'd gotten snappy with her once or twice, over Jonathan mainly but that was okay 'cause she'd put that down to lack of sleep and a hangover which it probably was only he wasn't in the habit of suffering from hangovers and he could tell it was the pills that had messed him up like that. What had he been thinking, drinking so much on medication? He still felt pretty lousy even now, like he needed to sleep it off for a week or so.

Going back into the lounge, he found Harry standing by the fireplace, taking down the decorations. Already the room looked quite bare and that cosy feel had evaporated.

"Hey! What happened to the twelve days of Christmas?" he exclaimed, handing over her coffee.

She smiled. "We did have rather a long run-up though."

"Yeah, like three years long," he grinned.

He put his cup down on the mantelpiece and reaching up high, took down the sparkly garland that lay draped across the picture frame. "You got boxes or somethin' to store it all in?" he asked, looking about him expectantly. Everything so far, he noted, had been piled up on the couch.

"In the shed. I'll bring the stepladder in too."

"D'you wanna leave it with me? I'll pack up Christmas if you cook us dinner – deal?"

Harry handed over the plaster cherub she had just picked up. "Deal. Salmon or lamb chops?"

"Do I get either of those with brussel sprouts and stuffing?" he asked cautiously.

With a painfully serious expression on her face, Harry told him, "Actually, in the Home Counties, it's customary to have the custard left over from Christmas Day served cold with the main meal on Boxing Day."

"Nah." Dempsey shook his head but a modicum of uncertainty was definitely present. "That didn't happen at The Castle last year… that I would've remembered."

She didn't try to run with the joke, knowing Dempsey wasn't likely to be drawn any further.

"We'll give it a miss then shall we?"

His gappy grin told her he'd caught up. "You're real funny, Makepeace. You know that? You shoulda been on the stage."

He reached out a hand to swat her behind but she side-stepped gracefully and made for the kitchen, laughing.

"Why, I oughta…" he gruffed in the comic style of The Three Stooges.

Just fifteen minutes and the calm was already descending.

* * *

"Smells good," commented Dempsey as he locked the back door behind him and deposited both the back door key and the key to the shed in the kitchen drawer.

"I'll be dishing up in ten minutes," she told him as she replaced the lid on a pan of potatoes.

Dempsey had packed away all the decorations and taken down the Christmas tree standing in the hallway and now the place was back to normal again.

"I guess now would be as good a time as any to give you your gift then, hah?"

Harry turned away from the cooker and found herself being drawn against him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and asked, "You bought me a proper Christmas present?"

"I was gonna give it to you at dinner last night but… things took an unexpected turn, right?"

"You could say that."

Her fingers strayed mindlessly through the hair at the back of his neck. "And as it happens, I have a little something for you too."

"Yeah?" He broke into a grin.

"Well actually, it really isn't that little. I had to stash it behind the wardrobe in my bedroom."

"Interesting."

"Do you want it now?" she asked with a mild suggestion of an undisclosed offer.

Baby, I would love it now," Dempsey growled.

She smiled coquettishly. "Followed by another dried up dinner?"

"I can tear off that gift wrap like you wouldn't believe." His fingers plucked at the hem of her jumper as though to demonstrate.

"I think I'll play it safe and bring it downstairs then."

He laughed, giving her a playful kiss on the lips. "You think you'd be safe from me just 'cause there ain't a bed down here?"

"It's just that it would be foolish to put such an obvious temptation in the way, don't you think?" Her lips teased his back. "And besides, there's really no sense in confining ourselves to one room…"

"When we got another half dozen to try out," he finished for her.

They laughed in unison, low and intimate, the love that they had discovered rising up between them like a bewitching perfume. And then for a second, they just stared into each other's eyes as they revelled in the scent.

"I'll… erm…" Harry took a step back, light-headed and grinning, "go and fetch it."

"You do that, angel."

Whilst she was gone, Dempsey took the gift box he'd brought downstairs earlier from out of one of the kitchen cupboards, having hidden it beneath a packet of dried spaghetti for safekeeping.

"Whoa! Whadya got there?" he asked as she carried a large, flat parcel about 2 ½ feet wide by 1 ½ feet high into the kitchen. It was gift wrapped with plain matt red paper and tied up with shiny black ribbon that was finished with a curly bow on the front.

Harry passed it over to him. "I know you'll either love it or hate it."

Heading to the small kitchen table, Dempsey began to tear the paper from it, his delight obvious. "What have we here?" he grinned as he looked over at her briefly.

Harry found his enthusiasm infectious and hugged her arms about herself, looking on with a smile. "I noticed you kept looking over at it when we were in the shop but I don't know if that was because it appealed to you or because you found it so... divergent."

It was a painting done in oils and depicting an array of nineteenth century fishing boats upon a blue green sea, a swathe of pale golden beach in the foreground and away in the distance, beyond the curve of the wide bay, a proud, skeletal silhouette of an incongruous manmade structure standing starkly black against the blue of the sky. The tin mine and its surrounding surface buildings made for an almost alien presence within the picturesque composition. It was a strangely compelling piece that seemed to combine two separate worlds.

"Wow, Harry! This is terrific." Dempsey held the painting at arms' length whilst he studied it. "I mean it. You picked this up from the antiques place, right? Raspin and Helyer? The interview with Mr Tutti Frutti! Yeah, you were right, it really got me… couldn't take my eyes off of it. Don't know why… it's kinda ugly."

"Well you remember it at least so I wasn't completely barking up the wrong tree."

He turned his head just a degree to acknowledge her words but his eyes remained riveted upon the canvas.

"This is fantastic. Seriously, babe. How'd you get hold of this anyway?"

"I rang up the shop and got him to send it with a courier. He was most obliging actually. I think the idea of the coppers who'd been harassing him for information coming back to purchase artwork quite tickled him."

Still smiling, Dempsey turned around and propped the painting up against the wall below one of the kitchen cupboards where it could still be viewed.

"Kinda funny you should of bought me somethin' from Cornwall 'cause I did the same."

He took the slim box from the pocket of his navy jogging bottoms. "'cept I got this while we were there."

Harry reached out to accept the gift only for Dempsey to draw his hand back.

"Now promise me you ain't gonna throw this one back in my face," he said with a wary humour.

"I'm promising nothing," she told him staunchly as she took the box out of his hand and sat at the table.

Dempsey looked on feeling genuinely anxious. "Well, okay." It was important to him that he'd chosen well. "Just be gentle with me, alright?"

"I'm sure it's very lovely, Dempsey," Harry crooned with just a splash of sarcastic empathy.

It wasn't wrapped but the pale lavender embossed gift box was pretty enough and Harry peeled back the label at one end of the box which held the lid in place. It was printed with the words 'Seaglass Silver Designs' and a 'phone number.

So he had bought her jewellery. The idea pleased her a lot, the purchase of such a gift implying a certain amount of intimacy to Harry. Not only would it bring to light Dempsey's personal taste but also show how well he interpreted her own taste. In a way, it was quite a test and after his gargantuan failure of yesterday evening with the presentation of the AIDS test results, one he was probably very anxious to pass.

The box contained a necklace – a pendant to be exact on a short silver chain. Set within the confines of a silver disc the size of a ten piece was a shining confusion of the brightest blue glass Harry had ever seen. Made up of two different shades, it formed a swirl which seemed to depict buoyancy and movement – a representation of a wave she guessed.

"You like?" asked Dempsey, tentatively.

"I like very much," she said slowly as she examined it more closely.

"It's seaglass, see?" Unnecessarily, Dempsey leaned in and poked a finger at the pendant. "You heard of it before? The woman in the store, she really sold me on it, ya know."

Harry loved his enthusiasm. "No, I'm afraid I don't have a clue… what is it exactly?"

"So she described it as like reclaimed glass. This lady is kind of a beachcomber; goes out lookin' for pieces of glass that've been washed up on the shore, might be two years old, might be two hundred. But the good stuff is usually real old, dumped by sailors... pirates even! Cool, huh?"

"It is rather," Harry beamed.

"An' also, 'cause so much trash used to get thrown into rivers an' carried out to sea, plenty to be had; medicine bottles, wine bottles… She told me chances are the glass in that necklace came from a couple of poison bottles. Poison was always dispensed in blue glass just so's everyone was aware what they were dealin' with."

The enthusiasm suddenly waned. "Maybe you didn't need to hear that last part. Doesn't sound too romantic."

" _Romantic_ , Dempsey?" she chided, a smirk playing at her lips.

He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. Givin' jewellery to a girl is a romantic gesture," he said defensively. "It ain't somethin' I do every day, ya know."

Wasn't it? If Harry had ever cared to give it her consideration, she would probably have thought that was very likely exactly what Dempsey's angle might be. But by the sounds of it she would have been wrong.

"It _is_ romantic. It's romantic in the true sense of the word and I love it."

She touched a forefinger to the tiny curved shards that formed the sparkling wave. "It's unique, isn't it? One of a kind. And all that history behind it gives it a mysterious sort of charm."

"Yeah? You really like it?" Dempsey asked, clearly still unsure.

Girlishly, she rose up onto her tiptoes and flung her arms about his neck. "It's gorgeous. Thank you."

She briefly kissed his cheek before turning in his arms and holding up the necklace. "Put it on for me," she asked.

"With pleasure."

Taking the necklace from her, Dempsey draped it against her throat as he concentrated on fastening the clasp. He managed it with relative ease and lowered his head to lay a kiss at the back of her neck. "There."

Harry shivered a little, his mouth sending a warm cascade down the length of her spine. "Thank you."

"One day," he murmured, still close enough for her to feel his breath against her skin as he spoke, "I want us to go back to Cornwall, just to make it right, ya know."

"Make it right?"

His hands had slipped around her waist beneath the soft, fluffy sweater, holding her within the span of his thumb and forefinger and it seemed to cost her a few brain cells.

"Yeah, that place was where I finally got to meet all of you. The scene of a murder… some shitty little beach shack… but it changed things for us an' that makes me wanna go back, enjoy it together but different next time."

She nodded, understanding his reasoning but not wanting to revisit some of those raw memories.

"One day," she confirmed, "but not for a while."

She leaned her head back and automatically his mouth transferred to her throat, kissing the silver and glass disc that nestled in the hollow with reverence.

"Okay. Whatever you want, Princess."

Some primal nerve had been touched; a couple of thousand years of raging testosterone was pumping through Dempsey's psyche as he felt the cool glass on his lips.

It was weird but it was like putting that chain round Harry's neck somehow made her more his. It was wrong, he knew it. She wasn't a 'thing' to be owned or possessed, tagged or ensnared. A piece of jewellery didn't mark her out as his and yet the fact that she had willingly offered herself up to be adorned by his silver trammel felt like a minor triumph.

Jeez, what was happening to him? He'd given jewellery to women before; a bracelet here, a necklace there but he'd never once found himself weighed down with this kind of emotional turmoil. If he ever should put a ring on Harry's finger, it'd probably reduce him to a grunting, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal!

* * *

"Okay, so what?" smiled Dempsey.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, going through the pretence of ignorance.

Dinner was over with and a quiet had descended between them as they sat together in the lounge with their coffees.

Harry could tell Dempsey thought he knew what the problem was – the time had come for him to go home.

But that wasn't the only issue for Harry; for her the silence was an awkward one because she was on the cusp of throwing one extremely inconvenient spanner into the works.


	14. Days Of Wine And Roses

**Another Chapter that took forever to write! I've never had my scribbler's block this bad before, it normally lasts for one chapter and then it starts flowing again but this has been going on for months now and I've fed up with it. On the plus side though, the second half of this chapter came quite easily and I'm a third of the way through 15. I think the music might be helping :-)**

 **Thanks, Girls #YKWYA ;-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

"Dempsey," Harry began tentatively.

He was sitting forward but angled so that he was facing her, cup in both hands.

"Uh huh?" He smiled with his eyes and reached out to flick an errant strand of hair away from her cheek.

"I want to ask you something."

"Go right ahead."

She was going to ask him to stay another night. Well that was fine, he was happy to let her persuade him by whatever means she felt necessary. He needed a change of clothes but that was okay – he could leave a half hour early tomorrow morning to swing by his place before work.

And he had another full days' worth of pills with him…

That thought shouldn't even be there but it was and whilst he hated to admit it, it had been at the forefront of his mind.

"I was wondering how much it would bother you if…"

Her tone of voice, the way she was sitting, that pensiveness all indicated that what she was going to ask _would_ bother him very much.

"… I went looking for Jonathan."

"What, now?" he balked.

He was aware of his own body language, the way he had instantly sat back, withdrawing from the idea and closing her down before she'd barely got the words out.

"No, I don't mean tonight," she said hastily. "Tomorrow. I'd just like to put a few feelers out, track him down. Not necessarily to get him to come back here but just to know that he's aright and that he's getting himself sorted."

There was a brief pause whilst Dempsey decided how best to play it. Maybe it was totally selfish but as far as he was concerned, the guy was quite capable of fending for himself, whatever problems he had. He and Harry needed some time for themselves – they didn't need no third wheel lousing things up for them.

"You know, maybe you should just let him do his thing, babe. He was okay when he walked outta here this mornin' – way better than he was last night. Seemed like he'd got his head straight to me."

He watched her passive expression curl up into a frown of frustration.

"Oh, come on! Do you mean to say you wouldn't have wanted to do more if it'd been your friend? You wouldn't have wanted to put him up for a few nights, made sure he had somewhere to go? He left with nothing but the clothes he stood up in!"

"But he left like he did for a reason. He wasn't comfortable acceptin' help off of you."

It was a reasonable argument but Harry wasn't prepared to accept it.

"I could have persuaded him! I wanted to offer him a loan so that he could get himself set up with a rented flat somewhere… a permanent address."

Dempsey wasn't about to take this one any further and risk upsetting her, especially as he knew he was being a bastard. She was right, he'd have wanted to do something too if he were in her place. But if that friend in need should happen to be a girl, how would Harry handle that? She wouldn't feel a little of what Dempsey was feeling?

They'd only just started out yet they were already on shaky ground.

He stared into the black depths of his coffee cup, steeling himself to do the right thing.

"You first saw him outside of Covent Garden tube station, right? We could maybe have a mooch around there tomorrow, ask a few, drop a couple blue ones."

The 'we' was acknowledged with the lifting of gently grateful blue eyes and Dempsey knew denying her had never really been an option.

"I'm not expecting you to come with me, I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you. I appreciate the timing isn't exactly perfect."

"No, but I guess that ain't Jonnie's fault."

Even saying that out loud rankled but it was the truth. Course, if she wanted to bring him back here again, he seriously doubted he'd be able to act this cool about it. Hell, he'd happily throw a hundred at the guy himself if it meant keeping that spare room vacant.

He wondered if it was this fake, caring attitude that won him another night at Chez Makepeace. Not that he was wracked with guilt over it as he lay satiated and content in her bed, their early retirement meaning the early morning rise wasn't a problem although his morning glory most definitely was, resulting in a lightning departure without shower or sustenance.

* * *

Tom and Gerry. Lightweight comedians who lived up to their names, Robert had decided.

Still, they had served their purpose, done what they'd been paid to do. Now he was looking a little bit further up the food chain – or further down, depending on how you chose to view it.

He had dug the name out of the archives. The case went back over six years but Robert knew a leopard like Raymond Rhodes wouldn't change his spots. He would still be 'active' in some capacity, still in the business. At the time, Robert had been a junior solicitor within the law firm and hadn't had anything to do with defending Rhodes. He remembered the case well though as it had been quite high profile at the time and he had been given it as a live study case for part of his training in criminal law. Francis Callow, one of the senior partners at the time had been hailed as a magician when the not guilty verdict had been announced. Even the barrister who had been instructed to represent Rhodes in court had congratulated him on his incredible proficiency and fortitude in preparing the case.

Rhodes, of course, had been as guilty as sin, a fact which his defence team had been highly successful in deflecting.

It had taken Robert an entire morning to establish any sort of contact with him, the number given in his case file now obsolete. He thought it judicious to withhold his identity both to protect his own interests and prevent the smell of officialdom from getting up the noses of those who generally walked on the wrong side of the law. The nearest he got to tracking Rhodes down was a promise from the owner of a used car dealership to pass his number on. According to the records, Bryn Anderson Motors had supplied two vehicles to the defendant within a three month period during 1981, one of which, a blue Cortina had been integral to the investigation. This seemed to be his only hope, every other lead resulting in either a curt denial of any association or a panicky sort of apology that they weren't able to help. 'I haven't seen him in years', seemed to be the stock response. In fact, up until the Anderson Motors 'phone call, Robert had wondered if Rhodes had actually left London or even the country. He hadn't given his name, just asked that Anderson relay the message, 'I have some urgent business I would like Mr Rhodes to attend to'. He left his home number and specified after 6pm. He hoped his tone would convey authority and purpose, a hard man in command of his life and everything in it. The message was far more likely to be passed on if he came across as credible from the start.

Unable to concentrate for the rest of the day, Robert left the office early and was home by 5pm. At least at the flat there was nobody to wonder at his restlessness or hear the nervous whistling under his breath whilst he waited or rather hoped for the 'phone to ring.

To occupy himself, he made a chicken risotto for his supper and allowed himself one small glass of Chianti to accompany it. If the call ever came, he knew he would require a very clear head.

Eight o'clock dragged its' heavy minutes into nine and Big Ben mocked the hour in the corner of the living room when the News at Ten came on the television.

With his expectations sinking rapidly, the stress which had seemed to colour his day rolled over into fatigue. Funny thing was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, there was too much racing around inside his head.

He tried to concentrate on the news, only realising when Findus attempted to lure him into purchasing their Crispy Pancakes that he was sitting on the very edge of his chair, fingers twisting together agitatedly.

He'd been stupid to expect Rhodes to get in touch. What were the chances that the message had even been relayed? He decided if he was to stand any chance at sleep, a second glass of that Chianti would be needed after all.

He went to the kitchen and got himself a refill, taking it to the chair by the window where he could look down on the street below whilst still keeping one eye on the second half of the television news.

Since arriving at home, the quiet, the solitude had seemed to highlight the enormity of this plan. Daylight hours had given a more normal and business-like slant to his intent where as now, alone in his thoughts and with the darkness pressing in around him, he began to doubt the validity of what he was doing. Was the end goal worth risking everything for? His brother, his ex-wife – did they really deserve to have their lives destroyed? Probably not. But the real question way, did he care enough about either of them to let that get in the way?

At 11pm, he went to bed feeling a bit calmer and unsure if it was more down to the notion of a cooling off period rather than the effects of the alcohol.

And at just after midnight when the telephone rang at his bedside, Robert reared up from his pillow as though a bullet had been fired.

Sweat broke out upon his forehead instantly, his heart bulging painfully against his ribcage.

"Yes," he said loud and flat into the receiver, his heart in his mouth.

There was a moment's silence during which Robert wondered if the blood pounding in his head was affecting his hearing.

"I gather you're looking for me."

There was an indistinct burr to his accent, a hint of something Scottish maybe. Deep and melodious, it was bizarrely pleasant, considering who he was.

"I'm speaking to Ray Rhodes?"

Robert was out of bed and on his feet, standing stock still in the limbo dark of the bedroom.

"I was told you want to do business."

Robert tried to inject some steel into his reply. "I do. There's somebody I want you to get rid of…"

Clearly this forthrightness was an error.

"I don't conduct business over the telephone," Rhodes talked over him, sounding annoyed. "I'll meet you in person and if you have an interesting enough proposal, there's a possibility we can broker a deal of some sort. Does that sound reasonable enough to you?"

Robert swallowed. "Yes. Yes, that would be fine. When?"

"Now."

"Sorry?" Robert checked, knowing he'd heard correctly but not quite believing Rhodes could mean it.

"Now. I assume you're serious about this…"

"Yes, of course," he stammered and cursed his sliding confidence.

"Meet me in Hyde Park. The Rose Gardens. You know where I mean?"

He sounded so serene – so cool.

"The Rose Gardens," Robert repeated, only vaguely aware of where the gardens were situated. "I'll find them."

"The south east corner near the war memorial. Go through the small metal gate and turn left after a hundred yards or so. The Huntress Fountain at 1:00am."

"I'll be there."

He had just over forty-five minutes to throw some clothes on, drive to Hyde Park and find some bloody fountain in the dark.

Robert's heart was hammering.


	15. Strange Men And Normal People

**So at last I've got another chapter out and now feel like the block has finally started to lift as I'm well on with chapter 16.**

 **Thank you for the reviews; they give me a bit more faith in what I'm doing and I've certainly needed it recently. With there being so many D &M writers around at the moment, I'm very grateful to those who spare the time to give us all feedback.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 ** _Is it cold where you are?_** _  
_ ** _Do you feel safe in the dark?_** _  
_ ** _You really want to go this far?_**

 ** _All alone in your Hyde Park_**

 _Hyde Park by F.A.Q (2005)_

* * *

There was a distinct chill in the air; the tendrils of Autumn curling insidiously through the last green vestiges of nature to inflict a beautiful death. Orange and gold, brown and red; such vibrant colours to mark the dying season.

But in the dead of night, this awe-inspiring splendour had been lost to Robert Makepeace's eyes. All was shades of other-worldly grey underneath the crescent moon hanging so unobtrusively in the charcoal night sky.

It had been finding the south east entrance to Hyde Park that had proved to be the tricky bit. It had been years since he'd visited the park at all thus he was unfamiliar with the geography of the area. But once he had located the entrance, he managed to follow Rhodes' directions with relative ease, given the fact he was searching for their rendezvous point in the dark.

Robert was quite surprised to find he wasn't entirely alone as he marched along the path to the turn-off up ahead. At almost one o'clock in the morning, he hadn't expected to see another living soul but there had been a man leaving via the metal gate just as he'd arrived and another wandered towards him from the opposite direction as he made his way up. He had felt his heart quicken and his skin prickle when the man stopped in his tracks and just stared as Robert passed. He had thought for a minute he was in trouble, that he was about to be mugged and held his breath, shoulders hunched as though to resist the impending blow to the back of his head. But he had rounded the bend unscathed, only to be met with the sight of a youth, probably in his late teens or early twenties, picking his way out of the bushes on the left. He saw Robert, wiped his hand across his mouth and grinned before moving off.

If Robert had felt uneasy before, he was now downright disturbed.

When the young man was followed a few minutes later by a second, older and much stockier built man, it all began to fall into place; this was a cruising ground for homosexuals.

His already frayed nerves began to shred. Just what exactly was he setting himself up for? What was Rhodes up to? Was he missing something somewhere?

He was approaching a clearing where he could just make out the statue of the Greek goddess, Diana, standing in her shallow pool raised up by three Egyptian style figures on a dais in the middle of the fountain. Was he really meeting Rhodes for what he thought he was meeting him for?

The fountain area was wide open and spacious and Robert felt he could breathe a little better as he took the cool, earthy scents down into his lungs. September was the last huzzah for the roses and their night time fragrance was quite delectable. He passed by one of the large circular beds, inhaling deeply as he caught a fleeting whiff of the perfume, unconsciously striving to hold onto the gently intoxicating aroma.

The large blooms were colourless in the ethereal light, appearing waxy and artificial and everything around suddenly seemed much too still.

Robert's stride had slowed to timid steps as he surveyed the tableau before him. Several unoccupied wooden park benches spanned the fountain, rose beds acting as sentinels to the dark pathways beyond.

Two ghostly figures moved away from the far side of the fountain and disappeared into the trees.

He checked his watch: 12:59am

Robert had been trying to remember what Raymond Rhodes looked like but even hearing his voice on the 'phone earlier hadn't jogged his memory. He'd never actually met the man face to face, only seen him fleetingly as he was escorted through the reception area of the law firm on his way to Francis Callow's office.

As he walked up to the fountain, he spied a man standing waiting on the other side, a big man, thick set and of a muscular build. He stood with perfect posture, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, his jaw set with determination. His head turned as Robert approached, his expression unchanged but a flicker of interest flinting in his eyes.

He didn't know what to say although he thought it advisable not to use his name.

"We spoke on the 'phone earlier?" he queried.

The man was now openly appraising him.

"No but if you want some company while you wait…"

"Sorry," Robert mumbled, backing away. "I thought you were someone else… sorry."

The man shrugged but didn't look away, half expecting Robert to recant his last words.

This whole thing was a bad idea. It wasn't going to work. He didn't know what to think now. What sort of game was Rhodes playing?

Now in a cold sweat, Robert hurried back around to the other side of the fountain out of sight.

The smell of the roses was suddenly almost overpowering, filling his nostrils, cloying and repugnant.

"You need to be more careful. Talking to strange men at this time of night can land you in hot water."

Robert swung round to find himself face to face with what could only be described as the epitome of 'average'. Although the light was poor, it was clear that Rhodes had no noteworthy physical attributes. He was of medium height, slim build, fine mousey brown hair neatly combed, non-descript attire and instantly forgettable facial features. Even his age was indeterminate; forty-five possibly or five years either side. Everything, Robert realised, that would preserve the anonymity of a cold-blooded killer.

But he was yet to be totally convinced of his identity.

"Luckily, strange men really aren't my thing," he said with a bravado he wasn't feeling.

Rhodes gave a little sniff. "No, me neither but where better to meet in the dead of night to conduct my type of business without drawing attention or arousing suspicion?"

Ironically, Robert felt himself relax a little bit. At least now he didn't have to worry that this meeting was anything more than he was expecting it to be.

"Not my first choice of venue for blending in, it has to be said," Robert joked nervously.

"Never-the-less," Rhodes told him blandly, "it's _my_ choice. Now, let's get down to this business shall we? I don't need to know the whys and wherefores, I just need to know who, Mr Makepeace."

He felt the blood drain from his face. "You know my name."

"Surely you didn't think I'd agree to meet you without doing my homework. I have to know exactly what I'm dealing with before I accept a job. Contacts…" he answered the floating question. "I had your 'phone number traced and made a few enquiries."

"That was fast work! I take it I passed muster?"

"Not exactly."

Rhodes sniffed and gazed off to the side. "I have concerns."

"What about?" Robert asked.

"Come on, now. Do I have to spell it out? You're a solicitor with one of her majesty's finest in the family."

He'd done some serious checking up.

"She isn't in the family; she's my ex-wife," Robert shot back, slightly panicked by the fact that he knew things about his life.

Rhodes just gave him a pitying half smile.

"… and besides, she's part of the reason I want to hire you."

The smile didn't falter. "I don't deal in cops, Mr Makepeace. Let's be clear on that score right from the start."

"No, no, that isn't what I'm asking for."

"And how is Mr Callow these days?"

"My profession is irrelevant, as is my ex-wife's. This request is purely personal."

"That's the conclusion I came to. You knew of my existence from my court case in 1980; you contacted me via an unsecured line and you had no clue whatsoever what this area of the park is used for after hours. I'm quite confident that nobody's working you from behind." And then he chuckled at the innuendo. "That is to say, I don't believe you're involved in any sort of sting."

Robert laughed shortly. "A sting? Good God, no."

"No. Of course not. Because nature dictates that once a busy little honey bee has administered the sting, it must die. The poor creatures are flying suicide missions - to take down the enemy, they must sacrifice their own lives. Quite sad."

Robert didn't like the slant of the conversation. It was creepy – borderline threatening. He'd thought it would be straight forward; he would tell Rhodes what he wanted doing, pay him for his services and the job would be done. He hadn't really been expecting to be given the third degree.

"My brother," Robert told him.

Rhodes raised an eyebrow, if not surprised then certainly interested.

"Hmm." He sniffed. "I must admit I was expecting your cause for concern to be business related. Still, it's all just business to me."

"And my ex-wife…" Robert ploughed on, stepping off into the abyss, "I want her to be implicated… I want her charged with my brother's murder. Can you make that happen?"

* * *

With her head down, seemingly engrossed in the charges sheet of a suspect being held in the cells downstairs, Harry felt as though all eyes were upon her.

Quite how Dempsey could carry on like everything was normal she had no idea. Nothing felt 'normal'. Even taking the coffee he'd just made out of his hand hadn't seemed 'normal'.

She scowled.

This was exactly what she'd feared would happen.

Everything turned on its' head, their relationship now impossible to translate into their working environment. But at the same time, a joyous excitement broiled within her.

God, how she thrilled at the very thought of him! These last few weeks, Dempsey had told her in so many ways how much she meant to him; small deeds, random words, a light touch, the merest look, all designed to show her he cared – really cared. But this weekend, when he had actually said that he loved her, it had all seemed to come together and make sense somehow. And the physical act itself! She'd harboured certain expectations, simply for the fact that the indisputable attraction had been there for so long, bubbling away beneath the surface. Of course it could have gone the opposite way – the damp squib effect, anticipation falling flat but thankfully that had been very far from the case. It had been amazing. And of course, that first flush would always provide a certain excitement which was impossible to harness but even so…

He was so much less inhibited than the other men she had been intimate with. Partly down to experience she acknowledged (she shied away from using the word 'practice') but also because that was his nature and he wouldn't get uptight over anything as natural as sex. And Harry had found herself feeding off that, participating without the reserve she might have expected to feel.

"Somethin' up, Makepeace?"

She raised her head at the mention of her name, prodded from her reverie.

"You're lookin' kinda out of it."

"I'm fine," she answered automatically.

"Flushed, too," he observed.

Leaning back on his swivel chair, he held her eyes, mischief glinting in his own. "You ain't sick are ya, princess?" His right hand was on his chest, lazily patting at his left pec, a nonchalant massaging action which wouldn't mean a thing to the casual observer yet caused Harry to blush all the more.

 _Lovesick_

"Perfectly well, thank you, Dempsey," she clipped.

"Ah, okay." He sat up again and grabbed a pen. "Just that I felt real odd over the weekend. Spent half of it in bed. Was wonderin' if maybe we caught the same bug."

That was it. He'd gone way too far. They'd agreed there had to be a definite line drawn between their professional relationship and their personal one and here he was overstepping that line on day one.

Her eyes narrowed. "As I said, I'm fine. Maybe it was something you ate."

It was only when he broke into a grin as he dragged a card index box towards him that she realised he was probably envisioning that dining room table heaving with Christmas fayre. But then a considerably more intimate interpretation sprang to mind and Harry blushed so profusely, her previous embarrassment seemed positively anaemic in comparison.

She stood abruptly, shooting him a furious glare before marching to the main office door and disappearing out into the corridor.

Dempsey couldn't decide whether to go after her of not. He should probably give her ten minutes cooling off and if she wasn't back in that time, start praying.

But the thing was, he hadn't actually done anything. Okay, so the weekend in bed crack had been… well, he shouldn't have used the word 'bed' period 'cause it was just too ripe with potential. The rest had been all her. She'd gotten all red in the face and flustered for no apparent reason. He'd barely said a word, yet suddenly it was all his fault despite the fact it was her giving him the lines.

So after this weekend, she was super-sensitive - and in more ways than one. Did that mean _not_ acting their normal selves? They started being all coy around each other and the boys would smell change in the air for sure.

He suddenly felt deflated. Was this the way it was going to be? Choosing his words, biting his tongue? Shouldn't he be walking on air right now instead of treading on eggshells?

He felt what had been a chink of pain in his head suddenly crack open and flood into his skull and automatically he reached behind him into the pocket of his jacket on the back of the chair. He'd been trying to ignore his shoulder for the last half hour but that now seemed intolerable too.

Dempsey devoured the little pink pills as though a hunger had taken hold of him. Half an hour and he'd be normal again.

Relax, Dempsey. She said she loves you and that's all that matters. It's just teething trouble; it'll work itself out.

"Hey, Dave!" he called across the office, "how'd it go with Gina, Saturday night? You score yet?"

Misdirection. Whilst they were pumping Dave for info on whether or not his fledgling relationship had made it to third base this weekend, Dempsey's sex life would take a back seat.

Makepeace's absence was a cue for an unleashing of banter of the coarser variety and certain details were revealed that wouldn't have ever tainted the air had she been present.

By the time Harry returned to the office a few minutes later, it had already settled down again and Dempsey glanced up expectantly.

She resumed her seat without acknowledging him and busied herself with sorting through a stacked letter tray.

Just great! The silent treatment now.

"Sorry," she mouthed softly. Her eyes flickered briefly in his direction before returning to her task. In a way, that just made things worse because now he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her; tell her he understood even though he wasn't so sure he did. But he knew that wouldn't take away the doubts she had about them being together. Because she did have doubts. And if he was being honest, so did he. They were very different people from completely different worlds. They said that opposites attract but if the only glue you had to hold you together was love, could that ever be enough?

"Superglue," he answered.

Their eyes finally met.

"I beg your pardon?"

His only reply was a secretive little smile that told her, 'apology accepted'.


	16. Man On The Left

**Chapter 16**

They had wasted an hour of their time so far, although Harry felt obliged to point out that strictly speaking, it was police time.

"You wanna call it a day, 'sup to you, princess. We'll be officially off the clock in ten minutes anyways."

Lunchtime had seen them trying to crack a particularly hard nut in interrogation room two, throwing out their plans of a visit to Covent Garden and there hadn't been any opportunity for the rest of the afternoon. In fact, food had consisted of a sandwich eaten on the hoof and Dempsey's stomach was starting to get grouchy about it.

"Well at least he's known around here, even if we can't find anyone who's seen him in the last forty-eight hours. Maybe just another half an hour?"

"Fine by me."

But Dempsey didn't really know if he was 'fine' with it or not. If they managed to locate Jonathan Makepeace, what then? Sure, Harry's plan was to loan him a security deposit on a rental property along with the first months' rent but how long would that take to set up? He would be back staying at her place for a few days, a week, maybe even longer.

And if they didn't find him? Then there was a very real possibility that she would just keep on looking for as long as it took.

The truth was, Dempsey didn't want to share. Now he finally had her, he wanted to keep her all to himself. Wasn't that the way it went when you fell in love? His mean and nasty insecurities were rearing their ugly little heads; he knew that but he couldn't shake the idea that maybe Harry didn't feel quite the way he did.

"D'you fancy getting a bite to eat afterwards?" she asked lightly. "There're some nice places around here and it's still warm enough to sit outside."

Her sunny smile cast a sheen over his worries and an inch or two of tension dropped from his shoulders. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Having spent most of their time doing the circuit of Covent Garden Tube Station, trying to engage reluctant street people in conversation, they were now en route to the Marion Stoney Centre.

Down Floral Street, over Garrick Street to Bedfordbury, across Chandos Place and William IV Street and there on Adelaide Street was the homeless shelter. The imposing, if rather dilapidated building was, ironically, a former Victorian work house. Set up in 1977 by businessman Eric Stoney in memory of his daughter Marion who had met her death on the streets two years previously, it stood as bastion against hunger, cold and the dangers faced by the homeless of London.

They walked up the short flight of stone steps and through the heavily battered wooden door. The smell of food cooking wasn't unpleasant exactly but neither was it appealing. The savoury smell was heavy on the onions and the air was overlaid with the stale odour of grimy, unwashed fabrics.

They were standing in a spacious, high ceilinged reception area, a broad staircase to one end, three closed doors and a short hallway which seemed to lead to the centre of activity judging by the sounds that were coming from the open door.

"Shall we?" Dempsey asked with a gesture for Harry to precede him along the hall.

The place was brightly lit, highlighting the chipped paintwork and the grubby marks and fingerprints on the magnolia painted woodchip wallpaper. The original parquet flooring was way past its prime, the elaborate design incorporating mahogany, cherry and oak wood with its chequerboard border having been brutally mopped and scrubbed over the years

Harry tutted unconsciously. Such lack of care and preservation was quite galling to someone who had been around this type of artistry all their lives.

Once over the threshold, the parquet gave way to a deep red patterned carpet which had definitely seen better days. This room appeared to be a sort of communal lounge and several mismatched sofas and easy chairs were grouped about along with a few coffee tables. There were fifteen or so people making use of the facilities, most sitting around in small groups of two or three and their conversations enlivened the stagnant atmosphere.

As they approached, the group nearest to them stopped talking and diverted their attention to the two detectives.

"They don't start servin' 'til six, love," one of the women told Harry sarcastically as she eyed her up and down. Her two companions sniggered.

"I'm looking for a friend, actually," Harry said.

The woman grinned, picking up a packet of cigarettes off the table in front of her. "Awww, that's nice. Alan 'ere'll be your friend, won'tcha, Alan?"

"I'll be anybody's friend, me," an attractive young man confirmed, "for a price." He looked up at Dempsey who stood slightly behind Harry with his hands in his jacket pockets and winked at him.

Dempsey gave a bored, slow shake of his head and Alan shrugged.

"A particular friend," Harry continued. She drew out the photograph from her handbag that she'd been toting around. It was the only one she could find of Jonathan and unfortunately he wasn't alone in it. "This man on the left. It was taken a few years ago but he hasn't changed that much… apart from the fact his hair is longer now… and he may have been unshaven last time you saw him."

She gave the photo a cursory glance before passing it on to her female companion and lighting up.

"Nope. Don't think I've 'ad the pleasure. Pam?" she asked her friend, "you wouldn't forget an 'andsome chappie like that, would you?"

"'is friend looks a bit of alright too," leered the frizzy haired Pam.

"You seen him before or what?" Dempsey asked irritably.

The first woman looked as though she was about to snap back at him but then stopped. "You American then?"

"That a problem?"

She sat back with the cigarette raised in her hand in what she obviously considered to be a provocative pose. "Not for me, darlin'." She smiled to reveal a missing tooth and Dempsey didn't know whether to laugh or run screaming from the building.

"So… the guy… you recognise him?" he asked pleasantly.

"Ooooh, don't you 'ave a lovely speakin' voice? Don't 'e, Pam?"

"Don't 'e though. Fair does things to me, nah what I mean?" She crossed her ample thighs and wriggled in her seat before she and her friend fell against each other, cackling.

Reaching across, Alan snatched the photo from Pam's hand. "Ignore 'em – pair of dirty bitches," he said contemptuously. He frowned as he studied the images of Jonathan and Robert. "Dunno. Maybe I've seen him around. What's his name?"

"Jonathan," put in Harry. "Jonathan Makepeace."

She stepped closer so that she could point him out again.

Alan cocked his head to the side. "Maybe," he repeated. "Yeah, I think I might've seen 'im. Posh geezer, right?" He handed her the photograph back.

"You've seen him in here?"

"Nah, just around."

"You don't remember where?" asked Dempsey.

"Sorry," Alan said. "I'm sure it was recent though, like the last few days an' I've been around this manor the last couple o' months so pretty certain it must've been local like."

"'e a misper then, love?" the woman smoking the cigarette asked.

"A what, sorry?" Harry got the distinct impression they were being sounded out. That abbreviation of 'missing person' was one generally only used within police departments and not widely known by the general public. Were they really that obvious in their method of questioning? Did they give off official vibes? Or was it that she and Dempsey were acting as colleagues rather than as a couple?

But then Dempsey chipped in, "It's lingo, babe – missing persons."

"Oh, I see. Of course." She glanced in Dempsey's direction, acknowledging the message before telling her, "Yes, he's been missing for six weeks now… well, that isn't true, strictly speaking. He turned up at my place on Saturday night but he disappeared again on Sunday. I'm worried about his state of mind quite frankly."

The last part had just slipped out and felt like a betrayal which was silly really given that she hadn't even been in contact with Jonathan for quite a number of years. But seeing him again had brought back some nice memories. He'd been a good friend; at the end finding himself in an impossible position, caught in the crossfire of his brother and sister-in-law's disintegrating marriage. And it had been Harry who had turned her back on the friendship by shutting everything connected to Robert out of her life. She had been so stupid; Jonathan would have been her rock, a true confidante. At the time, running away to Winfield Hall had seemed the obvious thing to do, cutting herself off like that. Freddy had been there for her, of course he had but he was her father – an old man who was out of touch with the ways of the world. It had been the emotional interaction she had missed out on. Her father wasn't one to pry, he hadn't pressed her for details, hadn't asked for more than his sense of propriety deemed reasonable. Freddy had always respected Harry's privacy, probably more than was strictly necessary did he but know it, a by-product of losing her mother when Harry was still so young. He had always been there for her, always loved her unconditionally but the fact she was of the fairer sex had caused him to draw a respectful line where his daughter's love life was concerned.

Pam laughed sharply, her mop of bleached, coppery blonde frizz bobbing about her head.

"Half that lot out there livin' on the street are fucked in the 'ead! Comes with the territory. If you ain't a mental case when you start off, a few months of sleepin' rough'll soon knock the reason out of yer."

"I know he must've been struggling," Harry agreed, miserably.

This all felt so wrong. In an effort to cover the tracks made by their P.C Plod air, she was letting her guard down and now it was just a bit uncomfortable. And Dempsey was uncharacteristically quiet; he'd barely said a word, letting her do most of the talking. But then, they weren't working so maybe he was deliberately taking a back seat whilst she sorted out her 'personal stuff'.

She thanked the three of them, Dempsey nodding briefly before they moved on to an old man sitting by himself nursing a cup of tea in front of the television set in the corner.

Sadly, he seemed to be one of the unfortunates who had 'had the reason knocked out of him', cheerful enough but only concerned with showing them the roll of spanners and wrenches he had in a canvas shopping bag.

They circulated the room, showing the photograph to anyone willing to listen. Although they appeared incongruous in these surroundings, their presence seemed to arouse little curiosity. These people were, for the most part, transients; they'd seen it all before. They were used to seeing loved ones in their various stages of hope and despair, hearing of last known sightings and descriptions of clothing, seeing worn and creased photographs in nervous fingers and fuzzy black and white photocopied flyers handed out like prayer books.

Harry adopted a weaker attitude in a bid to lose the cop persona, hanging onto Dempsey's arm and looking to him for guidance at the appropriate moments. They were just more 'people' now, maybe good for a couple of quid or a cigarette. But their search meant little more than that to those with no one looking for them.

Only one person in that room had been interested in Harry's presence although he had deliberately stayed on the fringes to avoid her questions. He was so interested in fact that when the pair left the Marion Stoney Centre to return to the shops and restaurants of Covent Garden, he discreetly followed along behind.


	17. Soleil Bleu

**It's been months since the last chapter... sorry. You'll probably need to run your eye over the last couple of paragraphs of 'Man On The Left' to remind yourself of what's going on - or maybe the last couple of chapters!**

 **At least now I've got this chapter posted, I can get down to the tonne of reviews that I've still to do. With so many D &M writers doing their stuff these days, it's easy to fall behind.**

 **Hope you enjoy this one. Nothing really happens, just a bit of a cutesy #them scene I wanted to do.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

"… an' I'll take the chicken liver pate to start, followed up with the veal in a creamy mustard sauce with mashed potatoes," Dempsey reeled off from the menu. "We havin' wine?" he asked Harry. "How 'bout a bottle of the red Bordeaux? That'd work, right?"

"We'll just have a bottle of Perrier, please," said Harry to the waiter as she handed back her menu.

Dempsey opened his mouth to object but then twigged onto her train of thought. "Ah. Okay."

"It's for your own good," she told him pertly. "In fact, abstinence might do us both good."

"Hope we're still talkin' booze," he checked, giving a cheeky grin.

Harry appeared slightly shocked. "God, yes!" she exclaimed, making him laugh.

They were inside The Market Building, Covent Garden, sitting outside Soleil Bleu on the lower ground floor.

"Is that a compliment?" Dempsey asked.

"Not yet," she told him with a sly half smile full of promise.

Dempsey's hand slid across the table top to capture her fingers, loving how it sometimes seemed as though they'd almost built up their own language over the handful of years they'd been partnered together.

Still gazing out at their fellow diners, she said in a deliberately casual way, "Possibly later."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, deciding to test her mettle. "I mightn't be available later."

Her fingers tightened about his. "You'd better be!" she warned and turned her head so that they were only inches apart.

Although the high, circular table was quite small, it was still large enough to dine at and made for an intimate feel. They sat almost shoulder to shoulder to face out onto the quadrangle which was enclosed by several other restaurants. The area was starting to fill up already with workers eager to cast off the stresses of their day and indulge in a few drinks whilst avoiding the task of cooking later on.

They both broke into a grin and came together in a brief kiss before Harry turned away somewhat shyly when the waiter reappeared with the Perrier water. The young man beamed as he poured the sparkling water into wine glasses, expressing an emotional response which was clearly meant for them although out of respect for their privacy, he kept his eyes averted until the very last moment when he informed them that their starters were on the way and so politeness dictated that eye contact be made.

Their hands had automatically parted and now Harry's right hand was free, she reached for her glass instead.

"It's really quite an eye-opener, isn't it?" she began, sipping the water. "I mean, it's different when it isn't just work… when it's somebody you know."

"Makes all the difference in the world," he agreed. "But you know we're gonna find him; it's what we do, I mean, we'd be pretty shitty detectives if we didn't, right?"

"I know we will, It's just that I feel as though I've let him down…"

Dempsey shifted his glass so that it stood between his hands, his forearms resting on the table as he hunkered forwards.

"Come on," he placated, "he turns up out of the blue, you ain't seen him in years… not your guilt trip, babe."

Back to this again.

Unconsciously, Harry had mimicked Dempsey's posture and now she too was leant forward on her forearms.

"I know, I know but I'm the one he came to for help."

"And you did. You helped. You gave him one helluva meal, a hot shower, a bed for the night an' clean clothes. I'm not getting how you think you let the guy down. You did great!"

Did she catch the edge in his voice?

Harry sighed. "Sorry. I know I'm just repeating myself. So not another word about Jonathan for the rest of the evening," she said with bright resolve. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay."

Dempsey moved his hand across the few inches of table that separated them and linked their fingers.

"Maybe we could revisit what it was that went down at the office this morning?" he asked carefully.

It wasn't so much her body language, more the lack of it. She didn't move a muscle, freezing up as though to mask her feelings on the subject.

"It was nothing. I just don't' want them all knowing. And yes, I'm a terrible coward, you don't have to tell me."

She felt his laugh rather than heard it, reverberating up the length of her arm. Gratefully, she turned her hand in his to play with his fingers.

"It wouldn't be so bad, ya know, just like pullin' off a Band-Aid; you ain't lookin' forward to it but once it's over an' done, it's like it was never there."

Harry gave him a sidelong look. "I really can't see any of the boys letting this one go to be honest – ever!"

"So we roll with it, take the higher ground, they'll get bored eventually, I guarantee."

"Do you think so?" she asked doubtfully.

Dempsey squeezed her hand, offering solid reassurance. "I know so. Trust me."

"And what about our dear Chief Superintendent Spikings?" She drew his name out to the fullest to get her concern across.

"The man ain't stupid. He knows when somethin' like this happens, it's outa his control. Even if he saw it comin', how was he gonna stop it short of movin' one of us out?"

She turned to him. "And what if it comes to that?"

Her question was almost a challenge, her eyes keen and searching.

"C'mmon, Harry. He knows he's got a good thing goin' with us on his team. We get him the results that make him look good. You know the same as me it's all about the figures with the honchos upstairs. Gordon shows us a target and we hit the bullseye. He ain't gonna jeopardise that."

"He isn't going to just ignore the situation."

Slowly, Dempsey raised up their joined hands, bringing them to his mouth so that he could kiss her knuckles. "Glad to hear it. Congrats are on the cards then, huh?"

Harry just shook her head and smiled, refraining from a reply as the waiter had reappeared, this time bearing their first course. "More like a half hour lecture," Harry suggested the moment they were alone once more. "I don't believe in miracles."

Dempsey picked up a knife and reached for a piece of bread. "I do… and fairy tales too." He grinned, his eyes radiating his happiness at the very thought of his next words. "I got a princess for a girlfriend."

She laughed quietly and leaned in to him. "You're really a big softy at heart, aren't you?"

"My cover gets blown, I'll know whose castle keep to come knockin' at."

"I promise not to blow your cover," she said, her lips so close to his cheek that he could feel her breath. "But your cover is all I'm promising."

Dempsey drew back to regard her silently for a second. "If that means what I think it means, how 'bout we skip the food? I thought I was hungry until my appetite suddenly kicked in, if you know what I'm sayin'."

"I certainly know what I want for dessert, anyway, she teased.

Dempsey dropped his fork back down. "Okay, you need to stop this right now."

He'd never dreamed he'd be having a conversation like this with his partner – well, yeah, maybe in his dreams he had. It reminded him of the time, a few weeks earlier when he'd had dinner with Inga - or Iris Smellie as they now knew her real name to be. Her brand of flirting had been predatory though, dark and heavy to the point where it wasn't even fun. But with Harry it was different; the tone more humorous, the conversation lighter. There was no pressure, just the buzz of playful innuendo. It was love, wasn't it? Love changed everything. Jeez, it was a great feeling and if he had any sense, he'd hang onto it tight with both hands. But the trouble was, lately, sense had this way of slipping though his fingers.

He snuck a look her way as he took a bite out of the crusty bread. She was so beautiful, so natural even with[ the make-up. There was something almost innocent about her which was completely nuts, given that she was a cop and a damned good one at that. Maybe it was just that the things she'd seen, all the bad that had touched her life, the detritus that flowed through it, it hadn't tainted her and somehow, she had remained unsullied. How did she do that when he was so blackened from the inside out? Yeah, he was one of the good guys but sometimes it felt like the job had cost him a part of himself.

He wasn't the man he could have been.

"How's the soup?" he asked. "Good?"

"Excellent. Yours?"

"Great, only pretty heavy on the garlic."

Harry made a face. "That's a shame."

He caught her meaning and stopped eating. "Isn't it though?" Studying the pate topped bread, he frowned. "Wouldn't want a tub of mashed up chicken livers to screw up anyone's night."

"Mmm," Harry agreed, "me neither. Although we got round it alright the other night with the Greek takeaway, didn't we?" She took up the hand holding the offending foodstuff and guided it to her own mouth so she was able to take a bite.

Dempsey grinned and Harry grinned back as she chewed.

"You like?" he asked.

She nodded. "You're right though, very garlicky."

Still holding his hand, she helped herself to another mouthful.

He finished off what remained and spread another chunk of the crusty bread with pate from the mini terrine on his plate whilst Harry continued with her asparagus soup.

But when he felt her eyes looking his way again, an itchy excitement grew in his chest. He was a kid at the arcade, visiting cousins at the coast, running wild in a toy store. There was magic pumping through his heart like a drug… Harry did that to him.

"You ain't getting' no more," he told her, humorous objection ringing loud in his voice.

"Don't be mean, James."

"Uh-uh."

Leaning against his upper arm coyly, she manoeuvred his forearm towards her. "Just a little bite. You wouldn't refuse me would you?"

No, he wouldn't… couldn't.

With their heads bent close together, Harry took a small nibble on the morsel he held up between them. She giggled when he jerked it away and grabbed his hand to hold it fast.

Looking up, she met his warm eyes and almost instinctively they sought each other's lips, indulging in soft, smiling kisses which lasted only moments yet encapsulated the perfect tenderness of the situation.

Although fully aware that they were very much in view to those around them, miraculously, Harry felt unconcerned. Public displays of affection were generally limited to the shaking of hands and chaste kisses on the cheek when greeting someone in her world. Until she had fallen in love with Dempsey, all this silly feeding business and giggly kisses would have seemed preposterous. Even as a teenager, a sense of decorum had burned bright within Harry and suitors had had such tactile advances rebuffed unless their privacy was assured.

When now more than ever, a sub-rosa mantle would be desirable, Harry had apparently developed a devil-may-care attitude towards their relationship.

"Is this really a good idea?" she asked, stroking a teasing finger along his jawline.

"You worried they're gonna throw us outa the joint for heavy petting?" Dempsey laughed.

"No," she told him, lowering both her hand and her eyes at the suggestion.

"Eatin' garlic on a school night then? I personally think it could work wonders on the perps… don't move or I'll breathe."

Harry smiled and held onto the fingers that had curled around her own on Dempsey's knee. "No, I mean being…" she thought about what words might be applicable, "lovey-dovey. In public. Just imagine what the likes of Big Boris would have to say about it or Willie the Weed. Or my nark Gloria who for some unfathomable reason seems to have become your nark!"

"Gloria," said Dempsey, fondly as though reminiscing. "The tart with the heart. You're right, she'd be devastated if she found out about me an' you." Harry smacked his knee, tutting at the idea. "It's true! She wants to marry me, I'm tellin' ya!"

"Well, she can't. You're spoken for."

He grinned at what he perceived to be the olde worlde turn of phrase. "Is that right? Thing is, Glo don't know that. I don't want a cat fight breakin' out when she's humpin' on my leg next time we're over there lookin' for a little info."

Harry let out a short, sharp laugh. "Ha! Don't flatter yourself, Dempsey. I've never fought over a man in my life and I certainly don't intend to start with the likes of Gloria."

He shrugged. "Okay. Just that I think you'll find the man has never been me before."

About to launch into a tirade on bragging rights, Harry stopped herself with a broad smile that turned her into the beautiful angel who so overwhelmed him. "Idiot," she said.

"Anyways," Dempsey picked up his Aviators from the table and pushed them on, "anyone asks, we're doin' an undercover, okay?" He looked furtively from left to right, head ducked low before suddenly pouncing on her to deliver a particularly wonderful kiss.

Directly above them and leaning over the handrail so that he could both see and hear the pair in conversation, Kitch smiled to himself.

The moment he'd seen Harriet Makepeace turn up at the Marion Stoney Centre, he had made himself scarce. He wasn't about to make his face known to her, not when there was money to be had from finding out what she was up to.

Although he wasn't quite sure what was going on between Robert Makepeace and his brother, whilst he was prepared to pay him to keep tabs on him, why should he care? And he'd had another twenty sobs off him for the introduction to Gerry and Don. Wanted the frighteners put on Mister Makepeace apparently with the suggestion that he needed a change of scenery dropped in his shell-like.

Now why one brother should want to run the other brother out of London was an interesting little mystery to Kitch, as was this third Makepeace to appear on the scene. His guess was that she was their sister. If he caught up with Gerry and Don again, it was doubtful he'd find out anything though, wouldn't do for Robert Makepeace to find out they'd been discussing his business. Even if the bloke was a tosser, his money was as good as the next man's.

But the discovery that this sister or whoever she was was a copper, now that was very interesting. And the fact she was having it off on the sly with this American she worked with – definitely some mileage in that although he had no idea how it might be put to use as yet. Still, a phone call to Tosser Makepeace as he now liked to think of him (there had to be some way to differentiate between all these bloody Makepeaces) would show he was keeping his ear to the ground. And if he could find out a bit more about this family saga, he might come up with a way of making a few quid off Sister Makepeace and her Yankie lover too.

They didn't have the slightest clue he was watching them – practically on top of them just a few feet above their head he was. Only had eyes for each other though.

He slid his hand along the balcony rail, the metal smooth and cool and leaned even further forward, quite confident now that they weren't going to be interested in what was going on above them at ground level.

He watched the man pull away reluctantly when the waiter approached to clear their plates, saw the fleeting, flirtatious glance she gave her lover.

But their conversation from that point on was lost to Kitch when music began to play. It wasn't loud but the soft, rhythmic beat was just enough to obscure their voices completely.

He'd hang around though, see where they went afterwards. After all, he had nothing better to do and Tosser Makepeace might just be grateful for his observational skills.

* * *

 **I wrote this a few weeks ago now but on Wednesday, I was in London and found myself in Covent Garden so couldn't resist hanging over the railing where I'd pictured Kitch standing to see exactly how intimate the view of the diners was. You actually do feel almost invisible to them despite being so close. I have to admit though, unless things were an awful lot quieter in the 80's you'd struggle to hear a private conversation from up there so we'll just have to call it artistic licence ;-)**


	18. A Nice Girl

**So I've scraped together another chapter and I'm currently half way through the next which is coming along quite well, thankfully.**

 **Had a couple of follows on this story in the last fortnight which has really done my heart good :-)**

 **I'd been planning on posting this last Saturday. I spent almost the entire coach journey to London (to see Michael in the play, Off The Kings Road, at Jermyn Street Theatre), editing on my phone but then fell at the last hurdle. I discovered I'd forgotten to add the title and it wouldn't let me amend it without deleting the document and reintroducing it which I couldn't do because it was on my laptop at home. Had a brilliant weekend with The Girls though so forgot my frustrations until last night when it got even worse because all my editing didn't copy and paste back into Word right and I've just spend another far-too-long getting it into some kind of order.**

 **P.S. Michael may be 71 years old but he's still ruddy gorgeous! :-D**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

"It isn't like we won't see each other tomorrow," Harry told him.

The SI-10 car park was deserted save for their cars and they were stood beside Harry's Cabriolet in the gathering dusk.

"I was hopin' to see a lot more of you tonight," sulked Dempsey, arms folded against his chest and leaning back on the driver's side door, effectively barring Harry's entry.

"Were you now?" She gave him a sly smile and tapped the middle of his chest with her car key. "But I don't have any of my stuff at your place."

"I got a spare toothbrush," he offered hopefully, knowing that there was a whole list of other things she'd be wanting too.

"And make-up… a change of clothes… clean underwear? No, don't answer that," she said quickly as he opened his mouth to speak. She really didn't need to know what he had acquired in the way of 'lost property' over the time he'd been living in that flat.

"You don't need make-up on that beautiful face, baby," he tried, unfolding his arms to place his hands on her hips. "An' if we're talkin' dirty underwear, I really liked what you wore Saturday night."

Harry grinned, leaning against him now, her hands fussing with the open collar of his shirt. "I suppose you could always come back to mine again."

His suggestion that she spend the night at his flat had immediately sounded alarm bells. It had been on her mind for a while, the thought of being with him there or more specifically, sleeping with him in his bed. It made her uncomfortable, made her feel inconsequential, a number, a body when she imagined herself being drawn into that room where those unknown women before her had gone.

She supposed it would have to happen at some point but not yet – she just wasn't confident or secure enough yet.

Dempsey saw the invitation shining in her eyes and was torn. He knew Harry wasn't wild about his apartment and he knew why she was reluctant to come over if he was honest. There'd been a couple of disparaging remarks on the times she'd had cause to drop by, nothing heavy but he'd got the idea alright. He remembered Dave joking around with him maybe a year back… "You rent a bedroom with en-suite flat!" He'd laughed at the time but it didn't seem so funny these days.

So he hadn't pushed when she'd pleaded a lack of overnight effects but only because he knew he'd created a degenerate atmosphere and in the one place he could really show his love for her – his bed.

But despite the need he felt to be with her, he couldn't go to Harry's place tonight. And the reason? The reason brought a strange, unknown fear to the pit of his stomach – there was a chance he didn't have enough of those little pink pills to see him through. He'd worked it out in his head, the number of hours it would be before he could get to that drawer in the night stand that contained those precious packets of painkillers. It wasn't an addiction, no way, it was just that he needed to know he had them available, just in case. He couldn't stand the aching joints, the headaches, the pain in his shoulder which seemed to resonate throughout his entire body. When it started up, he felt like he was falling apart. He supposed it was because he hadn't rested it right, had pretty much carried on as normal with the aid of the codeine. He'd been too eager to prove to Harry that he was okay. He'd basically let his dick rule his brain and fucked himself over big-time.

"Hey, it's okay, we'll do tomorrow night."

He gave a resigned pout, pretending he thought that was what she'd been angling for. "You're okay with that? I don't wanna push you, ya know."

He detected a nervousness in her agreement; a little nod of the head that smacked of timidity and doubt.

"Will you be cooking or would we be better to order in?"

She thought they were reverting to the original plan of spending tomorrow night at his apartment? He'd only been asking if it was okay that they went their separate ways tonight.

"Is that like a test?" he asked.

She looked embarrassed. "A test?"

Testing her nerve? Testing how she dealt with the ghosts?

"My culinary skills," he clarified.

"If you like."

Dempsey lifted his hands so that they ran around her back and rested at the top of her buttocks. "I might just surprise you. My Ma made sure I had a few of her recipes nailed before I flew the nest. She used to say I shouldn't rely on always havin' a nice girl to take care o' me and she was right, I guess."

Harry was surprised. "She taught you to cook?"

"I got the basics down, ya know? You got eggs, you got a meal." He grinned broadly. "But once you got the recipe for Ma's secret sauce, you got spaghetti and meatballs that'll knock ya socks right off." He shrugged. "It ain't hard."

"Heavens! I look forward to it. And I'd always assumed Eggs Benedict was your signature dish."

Dempsey laughed. "Ah, see, I knew I'd really impressed you that time."

"Well, yes, you do always do a good breakfast, I have to give you that but your Eggs Benedict is the piece de resistance."

"Most important meal of the day – especially now."

"Is that so?" Harry snuggled against him, wrapping her arms about his middle.

With the car park devoid of any cars and not a soul in sight, she was rather enjoying the pseudo thrill of intimacy in a forbidden zone. Even the possible reason for him being such an expert at breakfast seemed incapable of fazing her.

"And why might that be, James?"

She knew the answer, of course she did but she wanted to luxuriate in his explanation.

"All that energy we're gonna be burning up, nights. Need to refuel with a hearty breakfast."

Harry's hands gripped his back a little bit harder, an involuntary action brought about by the intimate words. It could almost be a line but she knew that it wasn't by the way his eyes glowed so warmly, seeking her approval, her agreement.

"Just nights?" she purred. "I'm everso slightly disappointed now."

"I'm gonna make sure you're never disappointed, babe."

These days, she almost liked him calling her that, particularly when he kissed her like he was doing now. Who would ever have thought that a man like Dempsey, always playing the hard man, the wise-guy, the equal to the toughest of villains, could possibly also be the vessel for this most tender of natures?

"I'll see you tomorrow then." It was an effort to sound like a grown-up, her mind glowing white and feathery from his attentions.

"You will."

And his heart, she could feel it beating against her chest. She must surely have felt another's heart before but this was the first time it had made her aware of being alive. How had he done this to her? How had she fallen so hard for a man she started off feeling little more than animosity towards?

What would she do if he ever let her down? That ominous metaphor – 'let her down'. If he cheated on her, saw somebody else behind her back, slept with another woman – it would kill her.

His eyes held hers, searching for something, seeking out an answer. Did he see the turmoil inside her? Did he feel the disquiet beating in her own heart?

"I love you," she told him grudgingly, like she was apportioning blame, accusing him of passing on some affliction.

And he smiled with satisfaction. She realised then that that had been what he'd been looking for; he'd wanted her to say the words.

"I love you too, baby… like you wouldn't believe."

Holding her cheeks between his hands, he kissed her again.

Harry let the feeling of pure joy wash through her and it was only after she had got behind the steering wheel and Dempsey raised a hand in farewell that she asked herself the question, _but for how long?_

* * *

Raymond Rhodes had familiarised himself with the areas involved and had attempted to establish some sort of pattern to the comings and goings of both targets. It wasn't going to be easy, neither one of them had been consistent in their movements over the last two days.

Although Robert Makepeace didn't know who was living at the Stroud Street address in Wimbledon, it only took a quick search of the last census to confirm there was just a single occupant at the property. This was a man by the name of Michael Campbell who was roughly the same age as Jonathan Makepeace. Friends, he decided, seeing them go out to a local pub together for a couple of hours on the Monday evening. The following day he left early and came back forty-five minutes later sporting a new haircut and with a newspaper under his arm. Robert Makepeace had described his brother as a vagrant and a loser but it appeared to Rhodes as though he was about to turn over a new leaf.

A patrol of Camberwell Grove on Monday night had indicated that the ex-wife was home alone and tucked up in bed by ten o'clock when the lights went out. On the Tuesday, she had gone to work in her car, arriving at the offices of SI-10 at a little before eight. He didn't stick around – a building full of high-end coppers wasn't exactly the most logical of places to carry out a surveillance. Neither was it advisable to be following her about London so when she left with a dark haired man in a leather jacket and sunglasses a while later, he switched back to tracking Jonathan Makepeace's movements.

* * *

It was actually going to happen. He had actually arranged for the death of his own brother. Robert kept going over and over it in his mind, couldn't concentrate on anything else because of it.

There had been no second meeting with Rhodes.

'I'll contact you regarding payment' he had said and sure enough, the next morning, a brief 'phone call from a telephone box had been made, instructing him on when and where the money was to be dropped off. Just like a television crime drama, used bank notes wrapped up in newspaper and put into a plastic carrier bag had been deposited under the fire escape of a derelict industrial unit in Hammersmith. Eight grand now and another four when the job was done.

It had wiped Robert out completely but he didn't have a choice. Speculate to accumulate.

Twelve thousand pounds. How had he come up with that figure, Robert wondered. How had he decided upon the value of a human life? It had been relatively easy negotiating terms with the likes of Gerald and Don. In his capacity as a solicitor practicing criminal law, he was privy to the going rate for such activities and as for street scum like Kitch, well, sometimes just the price of a hot meal was all it took to get the desired information. The twenty pounds he had tipped him last time (four crisp five pound notes because psychology had taught him the importance of quantity alongside worth) was sufficient to ensure a certain brand of loyalty. Not that he was fool enough to believe that he had Kitch in his pocket but like a trained monkey, he would keep returning whilst there were treats to be had.

Maybe a few hundred pounds would have been enough for someone like Kitch but who in their right mind would trust him with that sort of thing.

He had no idea when the job was to be done. Rhodes had told him it would be in the next few days but it was better that he didn't know precisely – the less he knew, the safer they would both be.

He had been thinking too damn much about Jonnie; letting memories in, dwelling on childhood reminiscences that had no place in the here and now. It wasn't that he hated his brother, in fact, if he felt anything it was neutral indifference. Jonnie had always been the weak one, letting himself be pushed around and put upon. A soft touch. Robert despised that particular personality trait. Growing up, Jonnie had been labelled the kind, sensitive, considerate child and he, the ambitious, strong-minded and wilful one. Neither one of them had followed in their father's professional footsteps – a highly regarded Harley Street neurosurgery consultant who had made a name for himself in the mid 1970's with the series of papers he wrote on the use of deep brain stimulation in the treatment of Parkinson's Disease. No doubt a combination of the brothers' personal attributes was required for such a profession and so their father's hopes for his sons went unfulfilled.

His father used to be proud of him. Robert had always been one of life's winners; excelling at most things when he put his mind to it. And he still did only for some reason, his father had stopped viewing his successes as worthwhile accomplishments. He remembered vividly a few years ago being deemed as 'ruthless' and 'callous' by him after describing his method of taking out the competition when a promotion opportunity arose. His closest rival for the position had been Scott King and Robert had seen nothing wrong in acting chummy and exchanging ideas and tips in the spirit of comradeship... And going out every night straight after work for a few drinks in the bar round the corner – plying a man with a hidden alcohol problem with enough booze to wreck his chances in front of the interview board on that Tuesday morning. Robert had thought his actions rather clever if a little underhand whereas Patrick Makepeace had branded him amoral. They had crossed swords on numerous occasions over the years, drifted apart mentally if not physically. Both sons were regular visitors to the family home, well, had been up until the last eighteen months anyway.

Although out of favour with his father, Robert had always had a soft spot for his mother. How he wished that brain haemorrhage had taken him and not her. Thirteen years his junior, she had no business dying so soon before him. He would probably have lost contact with Patrick Makepeace at that stage if it hadn't been for Jonnie visiting even more regularly after her death, playing the dutiful son, the kind, sensitive, considerate child again.

The dementia took a hold with alarming swiftness and it was at that point that Robert had discovered the full and dramatic extent of the damage to the fractured relationship between father and son.


	19. Sweet Winnie

**Hi all! It's been wall-to-wall sport here this weekend on the TV; football, tennis, motor racing, cycling and I'm just not interested in any of it! But it's meant I was able to get this chapter typed up and edited without any detractions other than the usual washing, cooking and a bit of cleaning up LOL**

 **Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter - incredibly appreciated as always. Jojoann - You've no idea how long I deliberated over that part where from Dempsey's POV, his bed is the one place where he can really show his love for her. I very nearly took it out but then I thought it doesn't mean he loves her any less, it's just that that's Dempsey ;-)**

 **I've got one or two reviews to write myself but I should be able to catch up now. Oh and how I wish I'd got a review or three to write for SophiesWorld2. I'm Reeeeeeeally missing updates on Remember.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Tuesday had, unsurprisingly, followed the same pattern as Monday.

Although SI-10's current workload wasn't anywhere near what could be deemed 'heavy', it had never-the-less ensnared the hours and minutes in a mesh of tedious paperwork, telephone calls and other generally mundane administrative tasks.

The 'pattern' however, was not in the job but rather in the manner in which Dempsey and Harry continued to conduct themselves.

At what point would it be appropriate to announce their relationship, if 'announce' was even the correct term? Harry had said it felt too soon and she was probably right but it was starting to feel wrong to hide what was happening between them. It made situations seem stilted and vaguely awkward rather than excitingly naughty which had been the case prior to their Christmas celebrations and Harry fretted that it was down to her.

Maybe it would be a gradual process and things would become obvious to their colleagues over time. There really was no need to make an issue out of it although Spikings had a right to be informed of course. But it felt as though every sentence uttered, every gesture was under scrutiny now and the natural flow of their working day had been hammered into an oddly misshapen stage where they were obliged to act out a pantomime.

By the end of the day, as she watched Dempsey sling his jacket over his shoulder, the irony of the situation hit Harry.

They couldn't leave together but not so much because those remaining might cock an eyebrow but because of where they were going together. At this point, Harry didn't want to bandy about the fact that she was searching for her ex-brother-in-law which would necessarily include the need to explain his unfortunate circumstances. A sense of old loyalties had thus far prevented her from involving her colleagues, that and that deep seated need to keep her private life private. They all had contacts in various quarters and casting the net wider would no doubt bring faster results but Harry being Harry was loathed to expose personal frailties unnecessarily. But she had Dempsey and was confident that between them they would find Jonathan.

* * *

The place was luxurious but tasteful with it. Harrington Manor definitely felt more like a hotel than a nursing home which Harry was relieved about, not only for Patrick Makepeace's benefit but also her own. Occasional past experiences had shown her how depressing such places could seem.

Their feet sank comfortably into the inch-deep pile of the plush, golden brown carpet in the reception area. Very recently laid down if that earthy begonia plant scent was anything to go by. How different from the stale odours permeating every nook and cranny of the Marion Stoney drop-in centre yesterday.

Crossing fifteen feet or so of expensive carpeting to the polished mahogany reception desk, they were greeted in unison by the two ladies on duty.

"Are you visiting?" chirped the older of the two in genteel tones. Although very thin, her lightly rouged cheeks were plump and soft, despite the tightness of the pure white hair bun, scraped back to reveal her pink scalp. Twinset and pearls completed the stereotypical upper class elderly lady image.

"Welcome to Harrington Manor," the much younger woman smiled in a professional manner. "How may I help you?"

Harry redirected her attention and introduced herself. "Good afternoon. My name is Harriet Makepeace. I 'phoned earlier today to arrange to see Patrick Makepeace."

The elderly lady nimbly lifted up an A4 black leather bound book, opening it up as she thrust it across the desk towards Harry.

"Are you visiting, dear? Date and name in the visitor's book if you would be so kind."

"Erm, thank you."

Harry took the book that was being shoved against her chest.

"Violet…" the dark haired receptionist who was probably half her age called sternly but with kindness, "let's just make these nice people welcome first, shall we?"

"They'll both need to sign the visitors book, you know," she twittered, getting quite anxious now.

"We'll sort that out in a moment, my love, alright?"

She looked to Harry and Dempsey with an apologetic smile. "Our Violet likes to help out. Used to be P.A to Edward Heath, didn't you, my love?"

"Edward Heath, huh?" Dempsey tried to look impressed.

Violet eyed him with suspicion. "You aren't journalists, are you? No press! There will be no interviews given today, I can assure you."

"No, we're not press, ma'am," he told her politely, "just here to visit with Patrick Makepeace."

"Visit? Oh, you'll have to sign in then." The word seemed to act as a trigger. "That's the rule if you want to visit."

Dempsey took the pen that was being waggled under his nose with a good grace and took the book from Harry. "Okay now Violet, how 'bout you show me what I need to do here."

Whilst Harry confirmed their visit with the real receptionist, Dempsey kept Violet happy by following her instructions and a few minutes later they were being shown up to the second floor in the lift by a young care assistant.

* * *

Patrick Makepeace had apparently been informed of Harry's request to visit and was 'quite comfortable with it', a phrase which she found rather odd until it was explained that her ex-father-in-law's condition meant that he was prone to mood swings and not always accepting of situations.

"You sure it's gonna be okay – me goin' in there with you?" asked Dempsey quietly as they waited for the door of room number twenty-seven to be opened.

Harry nodded and silently mouthed, "It's fine."

The care assistant knocked again, a little harder this time and called, "Mr Makepeace, you've got visitors here to see you."

There was a distinct pause before an anxious voice replied from the other side of the door, "Visitors? Who?"

"It's your daughter-in-law."

The 'ex' prefix had been lost along the way and not knowing who Dempsey was, the girl had avoided mentioning him altogether.

The handle turned and the door inched inwards slowly. It had been a few years since Harry had set eyes on Robert's father but he certainly wasn't the man she remembered.

He'd lost weight was her initial thought but then almost immediately realised that wasn't the case at all. There was a haggard look about him, his face gaunt and she saw a deep fear in his eyes. Patrick Makepeace was a frightened man, haunted by the ghosts in his mind that had captured both his present and his future.

"Hello, Patrick," she greeted him warmly. "Do you remember me? It's Harriet," she prompted.

She was relieved to see him break into a smile.

"Harriet! Of course! It hasn't been that long that I'd forget _you._ Come in, come in."

The door was opened wide and the old gentleman stepped back to let her in.

Yes, he was much the same in appearance as when last she had seen him; a fraction below medium height with a rather large paunch, accentuated by the fact that he wore his trousers above his waistline. His hair still quite dark but thinning was slicked back with Bryl-cream, the comb tracks clearly defined and the scalp visible. And that wonderful little moustache he had always kept so well-groomed with wax was practically his trademark.

Reaching out, he clasped her hands in his, those long, elegant fingers incongruous with his stature yet such an essential part of his life-long career in medicine.

"How are you?" he asked solicitously.

"I'm very well, thank you…" It didn't seem quite right somehow but courtesy dictated she must reciprocate. "And yourself?"

"Oh, ticking along quite nicely. I'm retired now you know."

He'd actually retired several years ago, whilst she had still been married to Robert in fact but it had been a long time since they had last met and with his condition, an easy thing to forget, she imagined.

"You've certainly worked long and hard enough to deserve it," she said and then turned to Dempsey who stood on the threshold watching the proceeding. "Patrick, I'm sorry, this is James Dempsey… James, Patrick Makepeace."

"Good to meet you, Sir." Dempsey held his hand up and they shook.

"Err, likewise, Mr Dempsey. Slight problem though." He looked back to Harry apologetically. "My son isn't here."

She was completely nonplussed as was Dempsey who asked, "You knew we were looking for him?"

"Well, why else would Harriet have asked you here?"

They were now both confused.

"Do you know where he is?" Harry asked tentatively.

She'd told no one the reason for their visit to Harrington Manor; her phone call had been simply to confirm that Patrick Makepeace was a resident there and to find out how one went about arranging a visit. After narrowing down the care homes by location, type of care offered and class of establishment, it had still taken twelve calls to find him. There was still only a slim chance that Jonathan had been in touch with his father recently enough to make any difference to her search but he might just hold other information that would give her a clue.

"Probably out on the golf course doing that… what's it called… networking thing I believe he calls it. You know – talking to _the right people_ in order to advance ones' career."

He had lead them into the room and now indicated that they should sit.

It was a spacious, beautifully furnished 'apartment' really as at the far end was another door which presumably lead off to a bathroom.

Dempsey and Harry seated themselves on a dark brown velvet upholstered chaise long, Patrick taking the leather wing-backed chair adjacent. Remembering both of these items from Greyfields when she used to visit both before and during her marriage, she cast an eye quickly about her and spotted several other familiar bits and pieces. The sideboard along the back wall had once resided in the Greyfields drawing room as well as the matching square Queen Anne side table. The glass shaded lamp with cream alabaster base looked familiar too although she couldn't place it.

As far as Harry remembered, Jonathan had never been interested in golf and networking had only been under sufferance.

"You mean Robert's playing golf?"

She felt Dempsey's eyes on her.

"Typical of him." Patrick patted the arm of his chair and sighed resignedly. "You've arranged to meet him here with Mr Dempsey and the fool doesn't even have the common decency to show up. I do hope you're going to bill him for your wasted time," he said to Dempsey who was having a hard time trying to piece together the meaning of this puzzling conversation.

"Is there a going rate for that, I wonder?" Dempsey said speculatively.

Patrick Makepeace chuckled. "Double your usual fee is my advice. Money seems to be the only commodity my son takes notice of."

"What time is he expected back?" Harry asked.

The lady at reception had advised them to go along with any fanciful confusion he might display. To correct him, to tell him he was wrong would only upset him and unsettle him for the rest of the day.

"A law unto himself," he shrugged. "Now can I get you a cup of tea, maybe?"

There were tea making facilities on the sideboard she had noticed so agreed to the offer before asking, "And what about Jonnie? Is he around at the moment?"

"We don't see so much of him now he's married but as Barbara keeps telling me, that'll probably change once the grandchildren come along. She keeps dropping rather board hints, you know. Now…" The kettle was on and he was lining up a row of china mugs, repeatedly counting and rearranging them, "there are three of us, aren't there," he mumbled. "Do you take sugar, Mister… erm… Mister…"

"Dempsey," replied Dempsey, "but call me Jim. And no, no sugar for me, thanks."

"Alright. No sugar." He shuffled the cups some more, looking over his shoulder. "And no sugar for Winnie because she's sweet enough already. That's what we always say, don't we?"

Harry smiled and looked down at her lap, ignoring Dempsey's amused glance towards her.

"Have you seen him recently?" she asked, brightly.

"Who's that?"

"Jonnie."

"Jonnie? He visits every week."

"Have you seen him his week?"

Patrick Makepeace picked up a teaspoon but seemed unsure what to do with it. "I suppose I must have done – he visits every week. Now, no sugar for Mister… err… Mister Dempsey."

"I bumped into him in Covent Garden last week," Harry tried. "Did he mention it?"

It was obvious he wasn't coping with the questions whilst trying to make their tea at the same time.

"I don't know. I really can't think," he said in an exasperated tone.

"Never mind," Harry soothed. "It doesn't really matter."

At last, he brought them their tea, one cup at a time, his cautious gait so completely different to that brisk, self-assured stride Harry remembered.

"You did say no sugar, didn't you…?" He trailed off, struggling to recall Dempsey's name again.

"Yeah, that's fine, Sir, just great."

"So what's Jonnie been up to recently?" Harry asked when finally, Patrick was back in his chair.

"You know he's married now, don't you? Lovely girl."

"Yes, I know, I was at their wedding."

This was hard going.

"Oh, of course you were. I lose track. It doesn't seem five minutes since you and Robert were getting married and now here you are about to go through with this damned divorce. Such a God-awful shame, Winnie, you've been so good for him."

He put his cup of tea down on the table untouched beside him and sat back.

"Sometimes these things just don't work out," she answered diplomatically.

"Hmm." He smiled sadly. "I suppose Barbara and I have just been hoping you'd manage to iron out your differences. That boy has always been a handful; I won't pretend otherwise but you were a calming influence."

He turned to Dempsey. "You're not very likely to be talking her out of it, are you?"

"Me?" Dempsey assumed a neutral stance, saying, "Well, I guess the lady knows her own mind."

"And you have to earn a living, aye? No matter what your field, it strikes me that solicitors are generally only called upon during the unhappier times in our lives. No offence intended Mister Dempsey, just an observation."

Dempsey smiled broadly. The old man thought he was Harry's divorce lawyer. "Whoever said money can't buy happiness never paid for a divorce," he quoted. He'd lost count of how many times his former boss, Chief O'Grady had spouted that one during his and Mrs Chief O'Grady's messy and acrimonious divorce. He'd been way, way south of happy though, it'd all been bravado. It'd been a bad time for the poor guy.

"My, my," Patrick laughed, "you sound just like my son – a natural born cynic. I do hope it'll be a clean fight in the court room, for Harriet's sake if nothing else."

Harry could have wept for her former father-in-law. He had lost whole chunks of his life it seemed. Seeing her now appeared to have triggered something in his brain; taken him back to that period just before they had lost contact, before she and Robert had finally severed all links. It gave her an unpleasant feeling; brought back her own dark memories of that time in her life that Patrick would know nothing about, that nobody did except for Robert… and now Dempsey. The thought of her near-meltdown in that shabby little old cottage in Dirran still had the power to shake her, remembering how she had collapsed into a pathetic, helpless wreck and told him why she would always be dogged by self-loathing. She was glad he knew though, was relieved to have overcome that particular stumbling block. That night was still frighteningly raw in her mind, that baring of her soul. But she knew it was only a cold echo that would grow ever-distant. It may have re-opened old wounds but Dempsey had cleaned away the infection that had hampered the healing process and had allowed her to try again.

"And what does your other son do?" Dempsey asked, deliberately steering the conversation around again. "Jonathan, isn't it?"

Although Harry couldn't acknowledge it, she felt immensely grateful to him for stepping in like that.

"Oh, he…err… he does that clever stuff with err… tomato ketchup bottles… with plastic carrier bags, you know…" Patrick shook his head, frustrated with himself and his inability to make sense of the jumble of nameless images stored away in his head. "Except it's for business."

"It's marketing, isn't it?" asked Harry, casually. "Corporate image? Company branding?"

She knew exactly what Jonathan did, as did Dempsey, they'd talked about it last Saturday night.

Patrick nodded. "Yes, I think so. That sort of thing."

Then his face clouded. "Run into a spot of bother I believe. Bad investments or something. He doesn't tell me very much. Doesn't want to worry me so Robert says." He rolled his eyes. "And then proceeds to tell me how Jonnie has no business acumen and couldn't be trusted to run a market stall. 'You know he's no good with money, Pop', he always says. Must've said that to me a hundred times or more."

 _Typical Robert_ , thought Harry. Always sticking the knife in. He had always possessed a slightly unhealthy competitive streak, even with his brother but there, there was an element of rivalry involved too. God, what had she seen in him? But she had been young and a little naieve and his go-getter attitude had seemed a positive thing back then.

"Jonnie isn't stupid," said Harry. "He's got a good head on his shoulders."

"Oh, I know that alright. He looks after me. I'm glad I've got Jonnie in charge. He'll come through. Just got given a bum steer I believe is the term. Bad advice."

"But he was okay the last time you saw him?" Dempsey asked, trying not to make it sound like too much of a question.

Harry caught hold of the thread and said, "I nearly didn't recognise him when I saw him last week. He's let his hair grow hasn't he?" She laughed. "Trying to keep up with the fashion maybe."

Patrick was trying to remember what his younger son had looked like when last he saw him only he simply couldn't bring that time to mind. In his head, he saw him as a teenager which he was sure was wrong.

"I tend not to notice these things, well, not where men are concerned anyway. A hanging offence not to effuse over a lady's wash and set, I realise. I've made that mistake with Barbara a couple of times and lived to regret it." He pursed his lips and sniggered like a naughty child.

Harry smiled indulgently. It seemed they had little chance of finding Jonathan via this route.

However, he was to turn up soon enough and their visit to Harrington Manor, although not helpful at the time would certainly throw some light on future events.

"Don't let your tea get cold now, Patrick," she told him, catching Dempsey's grimace as he braved his own unbearably sweet tea.


	20. Be It Ever So Humble

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Recognising the sound of the 'pips' and the metallic clunk as coins were fed into the slot, Robert waited for the caller to speak with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He had no doubt that whoever it was, contacting him from a telephone box, was not somebody he wished to speak to. Gerry and Don, that pair of money grabbing idiots or Kitch, the money grabbing weasel, he just didn't have the patience for them right now. And the other possibility, Anthony Rhodes… the thought of hearing his voice in his ear caused his heart to momentarily freeze within an icy, clenched fist of fear and panic. He wasn't coping with the build up to this… event. He needed it to be over and done with; the less contact he had with Rhodes, the less responsible he would feel. If he could have just pressed a button to take care of it, he would have. How much easier for Anthony Rhodes to be some mythical genie, there to do his bidding with just a simply put wish and then to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Would he have backed out by now if Jonathan hadn't gone after Harry? The fool had hammered the final nail into the coffin. It had enraged him more than he would have ever imagined. It shouldn't matter anymore but unfortunately for Jonathan, it did. He had denied being in love with her, had claimed to not even fancy her although he had found that pretty hard to believe seeing as she attracted male attention wherever she went. And she, with those innocent blue eyes and pouting lips had claimed the feelings she harboured for him were of those for a brother. Only how could she know anything of fraternal feelings when she was an only child herself? She had enjoyed Jonathan's longing gaze, flirted with him, teasing him with a hand on the knee here, a peck on the cheek there. Harriet was a dirty little tease when it came to men; she knew exactly how to get them under her spell with that virginal aloofness, after all, it had worked on him hadn't it?

"'ello, boss. It's me."

Immediately he felt his hackles rise. He knew it was Kitch speaking but he detested his over familiarity, as though they were more than reluctant acquaintances.

When Robert remained silent, Kitch was obliged to prompt him.

"What is it?" he asked gruffly at last.

"Dunno. Maybe somethin', maybe nothin'."

Another pause until Robert was forced to respond, "Don't waste my time."

"The blonde what gave yer brother the cash… she's yer sister ain't she?"

Robert could hear in his voice the smugness in the assumption.

"And what if she is?"

"Saw her around Covent Garden coupla hours ago. She's lookin' for 'im. Doin' the rounds, she is, 'er and 'er copper boyfriend."

There was another pause but this time it was because Robert was trying to digest what he was hearing.

"Copper boyfriend?" he repeated, instantly regretting that he had now made it clear to Kitch that he hadn't known about this man. It gave him the upper hand, forcing Robert to ask for more information.

"You don't know about 'im then?"

Robert grimaced. He could even hear that creepy little smile.

"So what?"

"So neither does anyone else. They're keepin' it a secret. Don't want any of their plod mates to know anyway."

"How do you know that?" he barked, his mind racing.

"Let's just say, I 'ad a bird's eye view and an ear to the ground. Well into each other they was, gropin' an' snoggin'."

With his head throbbing hollowly, Robert tried to make sense of it. That simply wasn't the Harriet he remembered, seeing two men at the same time, on an intimate basis. And not only that but putting on a public display of affection.

"You're quite certain it was her?"

"Course I am!" Kitch sounded insulted.

But Robert was far from convinced. "How close were you to her?"

He laughed smuttily. "I was near enough on top of 'er… same as 'im. They was sittin' outside some restaurant in the Market Building – I was looking down at 'em," he clarified. "An' before that they showed up down the flop 'ouse on Adelaide Street. It was yer sister alright."

Kitch knew he had been right about there being something really funny going on between the three of them. Tosser Makepeace sounded like he might just shit himself and he hadn't even given him the meat yet.

"And the man? What did he look like? You're sure they were together… I mean, a couple. They weren't just messing about?"

He couldn't help himself; he had to know. Jonathan shagging his ex-wife had been the icing on the cake but what if that icing had just melted? Could he still actually go through with the _elimination_? He needed time to think but had no idea if time had already run out for his brother.

"Bloke was a septic tank. Good lookin' sort, kind that attracts the birds by just givin' 'em the eye. An' they were together alright. Probably together right now if yer know what I mean."

Robert felt nauseous. What was going on? She was carrying on with two men? No, not her. That just wouldn't happen.

Kitch thought he might as well try his luck. "And um… somethin' the American was on about might interest you…"

"What?" he snapped, knowing he sounded desperate.

"Tell you what, why don't we meet up and we can discuss it properly."

"Just tell me!"

"I don't think so, Mister M. I'm going to need financial recompense for all my hard graft."

Robert clenched his teeth. He didn't have time to meet anywhere. He had to find out if there was any possibility that pair of goons, Gerry and Don could have been mistaken when they said they saw Jonathan with his hands all over Harriet.

"I'm too busy this evening, Kitch. If you want money, you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow. You know you'll get it."

Stern. Matter of fact with no room for manoeuvre. "Whatever it is you've got, I can find it out for myself given time but if you tell me now, you get the payment. Take it or leave it."

Kitch deliberated for only scant seconds, his reasoning being that these toffs usually prided themselves on being men of their word.

"How much are we talkin' 'ere?"

"That depends on what you've got."

"I can tell you exactly where your brother was on Saturday night and what he was up to."

 _Up to._ The words jangled in his ears. Was it true then? Was Jonathan seeing her?

"He was in Camberwell on Saturday, at her place," he said blandly. "Now tell me something I don't know."

That knocked the wind out of Kitch's sails. He'd thought that piece of information from the horse's mouth as it were would win him a handsome reward.

"I know other stuff too," he blustered. "I 'eard everythin' they said, near enough when they was in that restaurant."

But it was now paramount in Robert's mind that he speak to those so-called eye witnesses.

There was a huge difference between paying a few hundred to have your brother seriously frightened and twelve grand to have him murdered.

* * *

"You okay?" Dempsey asked as they made their way back down to reception.

Harry was quiet but then, it wasn't surprising.

"Fine. Just a bit of a shock to see him like that, that's all. He was always such a strong minded person."

"It's a shame alright."

Harry enquired into the last time Jonathan had been in and discovered it had been six weeks which the receptionist admitted was strange as prior to this, he had been a frequent visitor, seeing his father at least once a week. Robert, on the other hand, had shown his face just once during that time.

"He has no compassion, that man!" Harry said of her ex-husband. "Looking back, I honestly think there was something lacking in his make-up. Patrick saw it. I used to think he was quite hard on him sometimes but he'd obviously seen Robert's dark side from the beginning."

They were walking back round to where their cars were parked side by side at the rear of the manor house.

"You know," said Dempsey, "the more I hear about this guy, the more I wanna smash his teeth down his throat."

"I wouldn't bother," Harry grated, "he's a lawyer don't forget; they're all slimy bastards and I'm sure him more than most."

"Yeah, well for him I'd be happy to accept the consequences."

Their pace slowed as they neared the Mercedes and Dempsey took his key from his pocket.

"There's a slim possibility that Robert might know where he'd be," she said hesitantly. "An even slimmer chance he knows where he is…"

"No!" Dempsey stated emphatically. "Put that idea right outa your head, Makepeace."

He'd been half expecting it; the notion that she might consider asking Robert gnawing at him like a dirty black rat.

Harry hadn't been wholly serious about asking for Robert's help and it really would be a last resort so she was a little bit shocked by the intensity of Dempsey's response.

"Well I realise there are plenty of other avenues to explore first," she told him defensively. "And even if he does know where Jonathan is, he probably wouldn't tell me out of sheer bloody-mindedness."

"Don't go getting' in contact with him again is all I'm sayin'."

He instantly regretted his words. He of all people should know that like himself, Makepeace usually viewed opposition as a challenge.

Her silence bothered him.

"Came out wrong, didn't it? What I really meant was, in my humble opinion, goin' there would be a mistake so I'm askin' you to think long an' hard before you open up any kind of a dialogue with him."

A tiny gust of wind blew a weft of hair across Harry's face and Dempsey brushed it away with his left hand, feeling that sickening twinge in his shoulder as he did so.

"Pretty please?" he cajoled.

"Well I must admit to being fascinated by this 'humble opinion' of yours," she said snootily. "I wasn't aware there was anything remotely humble about you."

He grinned. "What can I say? You bring out the proletarian in me."

"If only that were true, it would make my life so much easier," she said and as she walked around to her own car, "I was going to say 'I'll follow you' but now I'm wondering if the proletarian should be following me!"

"Hey, I like following you – always a great view."

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixing on her beautifully rounded rear to emphasize his point.

Ignoring the blatant 'appreciation', Harry got in her car, popped on her oversized sunglasses and sat facing front as she waited for him to do the same.

She was relatively sure she appeared calm on the outside even though she had been quite rattled by Patrick Makepeace's condition and now, she had the unsettling prospect of an overnight stay at Dempsey's flat. She realised then just how adept she was at papering over the cracks. She had it down to a fine art, didn't she?

She heard the clunk of his car door shutting followed by the firing up of the engine.

She needed to get past this… this 'distaste that made her stomach clench whenever she thought of the parade of girls who had sashayed like beauty queens through his front door and fallen like dominoes into his bed. It didn't matter, it was in the past and with the greatest will in the world, that couldn't be changed. But part of the trouble was that she could put faces to a few of them, names even. A particular favourite she used to taunt herself with was Annabelle, her old school friend although maybe 'friend' was a bit strong. Young Harriet had always looked down her nose somewhat at the other girl's flighty antics so she hadn't really been too surprised when she'd thrown herself at Dempsey that time. Even back then it had bothered her; just a little and in a way she really couldn't account for, producing feelings she couldn't put names against. Maybe it had just been annoyance that they had tumbled into bed together so readily. Annabelle hadn't been shy about telling Harry they had slept together on their first date…and the subsequent two and that sort of hedonistic behaviour always had a tendency to poke at her moralistic sweet spot.

She actually jumped in her seat when Dempsey leant on the horn and she looked up to find he was waiting for her at the end of the broad driveway between the gateposts, indicator flashing to turn out.

Gathering her thoughts, she turned the key in the ignition and followed him out.

* * *

Checking in the rear view mirror, Dempsey dropped an inch or so lower in his seat and adjusted his shades, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Right behind him.

Half an hour and they'd be home.

He'd prepped the meatballs last night so now all he had to do was cook the pasta and chop up a little side salad. Everything else was ready.

He'd probably never needed the apartment to look as good as it did now.

Last night he had cleaned up, vacuumed and made sure it was all just so, exactly how Harry would want it to be. Short of renting a new apartment, there was nothing else he could've done.

He was kind of nervous; not the same nervous as Saturday but he had the feeling tonight was nearly as big a deal for Harry and he had to get things right.

Almost without thinking about it, he reached over to the glove compartment, sprang the catch and felt around for the bottle of pills amid the accumulated detritus of parking fines, food wrappers, breath mints and chewing gum. Flipping the cap with his thumb, (some of what he'd bought from Pepe Sullivan were in conveniently basic plastic tubs rather than the child-proof variety) he brought the container to his mouth and tipped a few in. Now he was covered for hopefully the rest of the evening. A sense of relief took the edge off almost immediately and he settled back, checking the rear view mirror again.

* * *

It was almost dark when they entered Dempsey's apartment and he drew the curtains across the big bay window before switching on the overhead light which he realised was way too harsh. There was no happy medium. He possessed only one single lamp which was fine for wooing a lady into bed after a night on the town. Along with a little mood music, it created the perfect seductive ambiance; the exact balance to tip the scales quite efficiently in his favour. But even if he was attempting to seduce her, he was pretty certain Harry wasn't the type to fall for that kind of crap. Miraculously though, it now seemed like there was just as much possibility of her wanting to get _him_ between the sheets!

"The lighting sucks. Guess I need to do somethin' 'bout that," he acknowledged.

Harry seemed to find that funny if the stifled titter was anything to go by.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"It's never bothered you before…" and then with a hook to her lip, "maybe the lamp would work better? What do you think?"

So she was making fun of him.

"What about your scented candles?" she continued playfully. "And you could pop on a Barry White record whilst you're about it."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, Makepeace. I make an innocent observation on how lousy the light is in here an' you're branding my ass for a dog."

He tried to look hurt but didn't quite manage it. He did however, succeed in garnering a kiss on the cheek for his efforts.

"Awww, never mind," she commiserated, "we all run out of scented candles occasionally. Just as long as you still have that Joi de Vie bubble bath."

She watched for his reaction, smiling passively before sitting down on his sofa and crossing her legs to adopt a relaxed pose.

She had tested the words in her head first and they had come out bathed in sarcasm, the version that was filtered through her mouth, tempered with a silky, teasing lilt that hid her rancour.

When she had first leant that he had a bottle of Joi de Vie bath essence in his possession, it had made her curious to know its provenance – now it pained her to think of it. She had never asked for details and probably never would. She didn't actually want to know the story behind it. She wasn't a complete masochist.

"I do! You remember that!" he laughed.

Unfortunately, yes, she did.

"If you feel like a soak in the tub later, Princess, it's somewhere in the bathroom, all yours… unless you want company," he added.

"We'll see. You might offer me a drink first though rather than a bath. I could certainly use it."

"Yeah, sure. Wine or somethin' stronger?"

"Do you have any vodka?" she asked, uncertain as to what spirits his shelves might hold.

"Straight up?"

"Just a threat of tonic water and lots of ice, thanks."

"You got it."

He picked up her overnight bag that he'd left at the doorway.

"Make yourself at home, okay? Put on the box, spin some vinyl… I'm gonna drop this an' then get things started in the kitchen."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"You insult me, Makepeace. I got everything under control here. Literally half an hour, you gonna have an epicurean delight served up in front of you like you won't believe. You're gonna be singin' 'O Sol Mio an' planting an olive tree in the yard when you taste this, I'm tellin' ya."

He disappeared into the hallway, his whistled rendition of the old Italian song drifting back to her.

He was certainly in a good mood and it buoyed her up a little as she listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen; the clinking of glasses, the rattle of ice, the opening and closing of cupboard and fridge doors.

It all seemed too quiet sitting here alone but she didn't feel completely comfortable with helping herself to his music collection, not now, not when she might find herself wondering who else had casually studied that pigeon holed assembly of records. How on earth had she got to be this insecure, she wondered. She was attractive to men, she knew that, she could flirt comfortably and confidently and feel that she had the upper hand. Dating men wasn't a problem either as a general rule, it was when the fun stuff turned serious that she couldn't cope, when the dating surreptitiously became a full blown relationship. The acknowledgment scared her. That put her in the same bracket as Dempsey, didn't it?

But Dempsey was a self-confessed player of women, bored by the long term, eager to try out whatever waited around the corner. For Harry, commitment was a fearful prospect for a very different reason, because from bitter experience she knew that it made her vulnerable, left her weak and malleable. From the day she had fallen in love with Robert Makepeace, he had slowly eroded away her fortitude and sapped her spirit, she could see that now. And now, here she was again, wide open to emotional battery, having fallen in love with someone like Dempsey.

He walked in at that moment and she snapped out of her reverie, taking her vodka and tonic from him and feeling unnerved by the way her heartbeat quickened simply by the way he looked at her.

* * *

 **Thanks for taking the time to read :-)**

 **I'm half way through the next chapter now and so far it's flowing quite well... maybe because I enjoy writing 'Demparry' ;-))**


	21. A Chance Of Cold Meatballs

**Sorry abeed but they wouldn't even make the podium for this chapter... the next chapter might just see your prediction come true though ;-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

It had been Don's landlady who answered the 'phone to Robert.

He had wrongly assumed her to be his wife, a faux pas that won him an ear-bashing. But without him even having to ask, he was informed that her tenant would be where he usually was at this time of the evening – down The Green Man on Shacklewell Street. In a disgruntled tone, she had told him that should he come across Don, he was to tell him that if he pissed away all his rent money again this week, then he needn't bother coming back.

Robert at first considered 'phoning up the pub and asking for Don; actually finding the place seemed such a waste of time. But then he imagined the noise and distraction as Don struggled to hear at his end and besides, he needed to read his face, try to work out how truthful he was being and how much honesty was in those eyes.

So at 7:18pm, Robert was outside The Green Man public house, an old mansion house building whose run down, shabby exterior of peeling timber windows and flaking masonry paint was typical of many East End pubs. With a determination born of rising panic, he barged his way through the doors to be engulfed in a fug of unpleasant heat and cigarette smoke and the low, background music coming from the juke box. This place was even more of a dive than the last pub they had met in but at least The Night Watchman had been carpeted and refurbished within the last decade. Right now, however, Robert didn't really care about the décor, he just wanted to know if his brother was really as black as he had been painted.

It wasn't busy, being mid-week, just the regulars, The Green Man stalwarts who preferred the company of their cronies or simply their own company to that of their wives or girlfriends. It wasn't the sort of pub that women chose to frequent anyway or truth be told, were welcomed at with the exception of Saturday nights.

He spotted Don standing at the bar, a pint in his hand and a dumb grin on his face. The grin disappeared the moment he caught sight of Robert walking towards him and he nodded him over into an unoccupied corner.

"What can I do for yer?" he asked. "Didn't expect to see you… how'd yer find me?" He was somewhat anxious, unhappy at being unearthed in his own lair.

"Your landlady told me where you were."

"Silly cow. Proper loose lips on 'er, that one."

Robert didn't bother to comment, unconcerned with extraneous dialogue.

"The night you followed my brother to Camberwell Grove, what exactly did you see when they were standing in front of the window?"

That hadn't been what Don was expecting. He'd assumed he'd got a bit more work for him, that he wanted him and Gerry to lean on his brother again, something heavier though because it seemed he wasn't getting the message.

"Told you what we saw; 'im with 'is 'ands all over that bird."

"Tell me exactly how they were standing. How were they positioned?"

Don frowned, not sure where this was going or why it seemed to be so important.

"'e was stood behind 'er and 'is arms were like crossed over 'er." He took a swig of beer. "Feelin' 'er up. Got 'is 'ands up 'er jumper it looked like. Like we told yer before." And then he started to wonder. "Not your missus, is she?"

"Forget _her_!" Robert snapped, "and concentrate on him. What was he wearing?" he asked, trying a different approach.

"Wearing?" Don repeated with a ponderous laugh. "Can't say as I noticed. Didn't exactly seem important."

"Did you see them kiss?" Robert persisted. "Did he kiss her at any point whilst they were in front of the window?"

Don was starting to think Robert Makepeace was either intent on torturing himself with a graphic account of infidelity or he was getting his rocks off.

"Don't think so. No. I'm pretty sure 'e didn't."

Must've been the wrong answer because he was getting irritated now.

"Did you see them talking?"

"An' 'ow the 'ell would I know if they was talkin' or not? Wasn't there in the bleedin' room with 'em."

"You're not listening to the question! I said, did you _see_ them talking? Did you see them facing each other, mouths moving, in _con-ver-say-shun_?" he said slowly and deliberately as though Don were dim witted.

"He was standin' behind 'er; I couldn't see 'im but I'm willin' to bet 'e wasn't usin' 'is mouth for talkin'," Don shot back, annoyed by the way he was being spoken to.

"You couldn't see him," said Robert, flatly and then raised his eyebrows when Don didn't reply. "Then how do you know it was the man I'd been asking you to follow?"

Don looked at him uneasily. "Well, who else was it gonna be?"

"I'm asking you, would you stand up in a court of law and swear that the man you saw was my brother?"

Don took a step back, his free hand raised defensively. "Now 'old on a minute! You ain't getting' me in no courtroom…"

"It was a metaphorical question," Robert grated. "Can you state beyond all reasonable doubt that that man was the same one you followed to the house? That it wasn't someone who was already present when you arrived?"

The question was totally unexpected and it stopped him in his tracks. "Dunno," said Don cagily, "it was just a bloke."

The way Robert Makepeace was looking at him was unnerving. He had put more than a few men in a hospital bed in his time and he wasn't afraid to take on anyone in a fight but there was something in his eyes that rang alarm bells, something that told him to be careful because this one was dangerous.

"Want me to get 'old o' Gerald, see what 'e thinks?"

"Get your stories straight do you mean?"

The heavy atmosphere of warmth, smoke and music was closing in around Robert and the pounding in his chest was making him feel sick. Could he really let Rhodes carry on now? The original plan had been to just frighten him away, tip him over the edge maybe, get him out of London. The permanent solution had been a knee-jerk reaction to thinking he and Harriet had made a fool out of him. But how could he stop Rhodes now, even if he wanted to when he had no way of contacting him? The only way he could think of was by going to the address in Wimbledon that Don and Gerald had tracked him to and getting him out of the area before Rhodes got to him. But saving his brother's skin wasn't part of the plan and by doing so, by making contact, it would all fall apart and Robert would lose everything he had worked towards.

….

"You know how hard it is to buy fresh pasta in this town?" asked Dempsey, draining the water from the pan of spaghetti.

"Surely not. It's the sort of thing you'd get easily enough from a delicatessen isn't it?"

Harry held the glass of Sangiovese Chianti to her nose and inhaled the aroma.

"Not after 6:00pm it ain't. Every damn market closes down around here."

"So don't tell me, you hopped on a plane to New York to buy some, the city that never sleeps."

"Hey, it might've come to that." He tipped the spaghetti into a large earthenware dish and began ladling over the tomato sauce and meatballs. "But as luck would have it, Mikey, the guy who runs the Little Italy deli on the high street lives over the store so I got him to open up as a favour to a friend."

Harry took the tiniest sip of the red wine and let the flavour wash over her taste buds. Rich yet surprisingly crisp, the subtleness of juicy cherries combined with a more earthy, nutty flavour impressed her greatly.

"A friend in need is a friend indeed."

Forking the sauce through the steaming pasta like a pro, Dempsey grinned. "Well, he wasn't a friend until last night – never met the guy before but he sure is on my Christmas card list now."

Harry shook her head, smiling. "Does _anybody_ ever say no to you?"

"You'd know the answer to that one better than anyone, baby," he said, depositing the dish of spaghetti and meatballs on the breakfast bar and leaning over to plant a kiss on her lips.

He tasted the residue of the Chianti on his own lips and reached for the glass she'd poured him.

"Help yourself," he offered.

"It smells delicious," she praised, "and it looks almost good enough to eat."

"Authentic Italian."

"Are you sure about that? After all, it wasn't cooked by an authentic Italian," Harry teased.

Dempsey took a crusty bread roll and tore into it before picking up the stainless steel tongs and digging into the bowl of salad. "Then you oughta know you lucked out 'cause us half-breeds gotta try that much harder."

"Is that right," she said flatly, smirking at his double meaning.

There was a brief silence whilst they dished the food onto their plates and then Dempsey pretended not to watch when Harry took her first mouthful.

"Very good," she endorsed as she chewed but then her eyes lifted as she swallowed, slight surprise illuminating the blue of her irises. "That's really very good, James. My God, you can cook!"

"I can follow a recipe that let's face it, is pretty basic," he returned.

"No, honestly, this tastes incredible!" Her fork hand came up in an attempt to cover her mouth as she talked, already on her third mouthful.

He shrugged, almost embarrassed by the glorification. "I'll tell Mom she should have you over for dinner sometime," he joked.

"What would she make of me, do you think?" Harry asked after a pause.

Dempsey chuckled but didn't answer straight away. Instead he got up, went to the fridge and took out a white plastic tub, collecting a teaspoon before returning to the breakfast bar.

"You?" he stalled, seeking clarification whilst he thought about his answer.

He sprinkled Parmesan over their food, liberally. "Knew I'd forgotten somethin'."

Harry liked the fact that he hadn't asked if she wanted it, it was just a given for him, the Italian in him coming to the fore.

"Well, lemme see." He put down his fork and spoon and picked up his wine. "First, she would be in awe of you for sure." He grinned. "I can picture her now, wringin' her hands, lookin' to me for her introduction. And before we arrived she woulda been plumpin' the throw pillows, takin' off her apron, puttin' on a little lipstick, ya know."

"What do you mean?! Why on earth would _she_ be nervous?"

"You kiddin' me? To Ma, you'd be royalty."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry scoffed. Then she reached for her glass and took her first proper drink. "I like this. It goes really well, doesn't it?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I trod the grapes myself?"

"I might after another couple of glasses."

Dempsey resumed eating, happy to see Harry tucking into hers again so whole-heartedly.

"She'd love you, Princess. She appreciates class; good manners, respect, ya know. And what with the brains an' the beauty… _'Jimmy, this one – she's too good for you. You better treat her right!'_ " he mimicked his mother, making Harry laugh.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" she said with surprised curiosity.

"I've spent time with your dad; guess you could even say I've got to know him with him takin' me in over the Christmas period last year. I'd like to think you'll get the chance to know my mom that way one day," he said carefully.

"Rather hard to do that though unfortunately, with her being thousands of miles away," Harry kept her eyes on her plate as she asked, "unless you're inviting me to go back to America with you when you decide to visit."

"Why not? Could be fun. I mean, maybe not right now but a few months down the line."

She'd sometimes wondered when he'd feel the need to go back. It had been a long time since he'd seen any of his family and she knew that he missed his mother and brother in particular. But she'd also considered the possibility that a visit might make him realise what he was missing. What if he didn't want to return once he was back in The States? And how much worse would it be if she was over there with him when that realisation hit?

"Why haven't you been back, James, in all this time? I mean, it isn't like you couldn't get the time off. You must be owed at least five weeks' leave."

"Well if you remember, it wasn't safe for me to go back."

Harry took a large, fortifying gulp of wine. "Hasn't Coltrane been out of the picture for at least a year now?"

"Guess the time just never seemed right."

"Why not?"

Perhaps she shouldn't be pushing him on the subject but she needed to know, especially now.

"Who knows? Too hard, maybe?"

"How do you mean?"

She carried on eating, if only to appear nonchalant.

"Because there's gonna be _that_ conversation; breakin' it to Ma that her boy ain't ever comin' back home – not for good anyhow." He gave Harry a rueful look. "I talk to her on the 'phone an' I can just tell she's thinkin' this job is still a temporary thing. I mean, sure she hassles me to go visit but when she talks about stuff in the future, she includes me in it, like at some point, everything's gonna go back to the way it was before."

"You might feel differently when you do visit though," Harry prodded.

"I miss my folks, Harry, I don't miss my country…may Uncle Sam strike me down where I stand. I live in England now an' I'm happy here. I love my job an'…" he grinned broadly, "I love my partner."

Was this why he'd never really talked about going back, because he hadn't had any intensions of doing so for so long?

"I have to say, it's a bit of a relief to hear you say it."

"You only had to ask, babe."

Their hands had found each other's.

"I didn't dare in case I didn't like the answer I got."

"You got me for good, you an' Spikings," he chuckled and brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss the knuckles. "Aaaaand, there's kind of an ulterior motive in getting' you to visit with me."

"What might that be?" Harry asked with only mild trepidation.

She didn't really care what this ulterior motive might be now she knew there was no question of him returning to The States.

"Once everyone gets a load of you, they'll know exactly why I'm makin' England my home. They'll have living proof right in front of their faces. And it'll keep Ma off my case when she sees I got me that 'nice girl'."

"Oh, I'm not a 'nice girl', Dempsey," she warned, her blue eyes glinting with amusement.

His fingers were gently massaging hers now. "Wouldn't' want you to be nice all the time, Tiger."

Funny how it made her feel so much more in control to know he was staying put and not only that, he wanted to introduce her to his mother. He was serious about her, she wasn't a part of that 'parade' and that brought her an inner strength. It also brought something else – something quite unexpected.

With a little smile, she looked down at her food, toying with a meatball and then stabbing it with her fork. Slowly, she raised it to Dempsey's mouth and through lowered lashes, watched him bite into it.

"Do you think this will taste as good when it's cold?" she wanted to know.

"Why d'you ask?"

Her eyes locked with his. Soft. Playful.

With the edge of her thumb, Harry leaned over and wiped away a fleck of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth. "Because I'm not feeling like a very nice girl at the moment."

He glanced away, chuckling throatily. "Oh, boy. That sounds almost like a come-on… only I'm pretty sure that can't be right, I ain't that lucky."

Harry stood up from the table. "Shall we find out?"

She could feel her pulses throbbing, her heart racing. She'd known that at some point tonight they would end up in his bedroom so why not be the instigator, take that decision out of his hands and make him follow _her_ lead?

Take control.

"Come on then," she clipped and Dempsey rose obediently, his fork falling from his fingers and onto the plate with a clatter.

Conquer your fears.

Harry was afraid of bricks and mortar – a room. That was what it boiled down to, wasn't it? After all, if she was perfectly willing to believe he was in love with her and that being the case, what did it matter what had gone on in that room?

He caught up with her at the door, grabbing her hand and pulling her into him.

"What's brought this on?" he asked as she draped herself around him, her mouth seeking his.

"You're all mine and I feel like making the most of it."

"Not gonna argue with ya on either point."

God, he excited her; his voice, his touch, the way he kissed, the way he smelt and the feel of his hair in her fingers. Just thinking of those things could get her all worked up but actually being in his arms like this, it drove her wild with an insane need for him.

They stood in the doorway for a few minutes more until the desire that had built up between them finally overthrew Harry and she pulled him backwards so that they spilled out into the hall.

She stumbled but Dempsey held her firmly, swinging her around and pushing her up against the wall by one arm, his free hand tugging at the button of her high-waisted trousers.

Their kisses were now fierce, almost aggressive.

As the button slipped its hole and the zip was worked loose, Harry thrust forwards with a moan.

"And what the hell is with the suspenders?" griped Dempsey. "Just one more thing keepin' you from me." He yanked one of the braces she wore from her right shoulder and left it dangling as he tugged her crisp white shirt free. Having already sussed that she was bare breasted beneath it, he was more than eager to rid her of it now.

Harry's right hand immediately dropped to his distended crotch, the unexpected pressure galvanising him into peeling her off the wall and directing her a few steps nearer to the bedroom.

She moaned under the weight of passion that had taken them over and hung her arms about his neck as both his hands roamed beneath her shirt and his mouth brushed against her throat.

"Oh God, Dempsey." Her voice cracked as

their bodies writhed into the bedroom doorway, Dempsey's back thudding softly against the wood.

Arriving at their destination proved a wake-up call for Harry who pulled away to brace her hands on either side of the doorframe, panting, eyes fixed on the area of painted door just above his shoulder.

He'd fumbled behind him to turn the door handle before he'd had a chance to note Harry's reaction but now her frozen stance was all too obvious.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Her eyes flickered into focus as she looked to him, her nervousness all too apparent.

"Are you cool with this?"

She nodded and laughed with unconvincing confidence. "Of course!"

Bricks and mortar, she told herself. It was about the here and now and them, not the past and those other women.

His hands left her body and rose to hold her cheeks tenderly.

"I get it, babe, jus' that I don't know what I can say to make it okay. I only got the one bedroom, the one bed an' I kinda thought we'd got over the whole couch thing at your place."

His hands transferred to her shoulders and he moved backwards with her so that the door swung inward.

"It ain't just sex with you, it's makin' love and in case you hadn't realised by now, I ain't never done that in this apartment before.

But Harry barely took in what he was saying as she stared, eyes wide and lips apart into the room around her.

"Oh!"

Dempsey turned his head back to follow her line of vision, his hold on her tightening as he waited for the fall-out.


	22. Room Service

I know it's been a while - sorry :-(

This chapter started out quite long so I've split it into two and I'll post the other half during the week. You should also be aware that it's a bit on the ' _naughty_ ' side so if you're not happy with that, maybe skip and go straight to the next chapter. There's nothing crucial happening so you won't miss anything.

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

"Thought it might help?"

Once Dempsey had completed the task last night, he'd had second thoughts almost immediately.

Maybe it only served to highlight her issue and would possibly make things worse. But it was worth a shot.

Harry didn't answer straight away, just moved out of his embrace and hitched up her trousers as she looked about her.

"Does it help… at all?" he tried to break what felt to him like an awkward silence. "A little?"

Watching her from behind, she appeared tense, her back straight and her fists clenched by her sides.

"Maybe?"

 _Jeez, had he screwed up again? Why did he get the impression she was about to go loco on his ass?_

"When did you do this?" she asked calmly.

"Last night."

"You had a busy night of it then last night… all in all."

 _Okay, Harry, say what you gotta say an' let's get this over with._

At last she turned to face him. "You never cease to amaze me, you really don't."

He shouldn't have gone with his gut instinct. What the hell had made him think that moving the bed onto a different wall would put her at ease? And switching the wardrobe and chest of drawers from where they had stood to sit alongside the bookcase in the space the bed had left had been a mistake because somehow, now, they just didn't look right.

But Harry had broken into a heart-stopping smile. "And it had never crossed my mind what had happened to that bed linen we got in Cornwall!"

The pink cotton rosebud printed duvet set brought back memories for both of them.

"Sooooo… you're okay with the change-around?"

She nodded and went to him, putting her arms around him and hugging him tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much – for understanding."

He chuckled, glad that he'd made her happy and gone some way towards eradicating the tenseness of the situation. "Figured it's the little things that make the difference sometimes."

He pulled away from her then and leaning forward with his arms outstretched and his knees bent, he whooped, "I got it right! Twenty-four carat, gold plated, cast iron miracle!" he grinned, showing that gap in his teeth that seemed to be reserved for only the happiest of occasions.

Harry tutted at his clowning. "It isn't like I never give you credit."

"Is that so?"

He'd straightened up again and Harry slapped teasingly against his chest, allowing him to catch her arm and pull her into him once more.

"So you gonna gimme some o' that sweet, sweet credit?" he hummed into her ear, making her giggle.

She offered up her mouth to be kissed. "I'm going to need something _credit-worthy_ then."

"Mm hm." He pecked at her lips. "I hear ya."

The second Harry raised her arms to hang them about his neck, Dempsey scooped her up and took a few paces to the right to deposit them both on the bed. Harry, laughing through her protests, allowed him to wrestle her black leather brogues from her feet and toss them to the floor. His own shoes were kicked off quite effortlessly moments later.

"These suspenders are really starting to bug me," he said, pulling the braces down for the second time.

"Funny because most Englishmen generally get rather over-excited at even the thought of suspenders."

He pulled off her quite severely tailored trousers and cast them aside. "Yeah, yeah, you call 'em braces, I know that but to me, that's a mouthful of metal that fixes your teeth in line. And right now, that doesn't seem to me the most interesting of things to be fillin' your mouth with."

"You're really quite bad, aren't you," she observed coolly, covering the fact that her heart was thumping like a jack-hammer.

He had her shirt fully open now, feasting his eyes upon her naked torso.

"God loves a trier."

Worshipfully, he ran two fingers from the hollow of her neck, down between her breasts and over her stomach. His progress was deliberately slow, carefully managed, both for Harry's entertainment and his own. Removing her clothes was like unwrapping a gift and whilst there was a great anticipation in the process, the actual pleasure in viewing and holding that gift in his hands was immeasurable.

Harry squirmed deliciously, a little smile lighting up her face and telling Dempsey he was definitely in the right ball park. When her hands slunk to his waist-band to pop the button and then deftly undo his fly to enter _his_ ball park, he lay back to give her room to play around.

This was the third time of being together – the second time of sharing a bed since their fake Christmas and the first time Harry had taken the initiative in both hands so to speak.

"Oh, babe," he whispered, watching as she quite elegantly removed him from the confines of his Chinos. And then, that flirtatious little smile again before Dempsey's much louder exclamation of "Sweet Jesus!"

Every act was so much better with her; it all felt new and different, like the first time, like she was his first girl almost but this girl sure as hell knew what she was doing. And that surprised him. He hadn't expected her to be this… willing? No, not willing; wasn't like she was some sweet innocent kid. Adept? But that wasn't right either. He smiled inwardly when the word came to mind.

Pushing the shirt back off her shoulders, he watched her ease herself down onto her side before gripping him firmly in her right fist, her lips continuing to move languidly up and down his length.

Compatible. That was what she was; she was compatible with him, right up until the point where she had to let go. But he was determined to get her past all that crap.

"Oh that feels good, baby… that feels so good."

He raised his hips up off the bed in order to shuffle his trousers down as far as he could get them before reluctantly, Harry released him and sat up. She shrugged off the white shirt and tossed it to the floor then without too much disruption to the proceedings, peeled the trousers off inside out, closely followed by his sports socks.

Without a word, she lowered her head back down and Dempsey took a sharp intake of breath.

"Whoa! You got a little somethin' goin' on with your tongue there, princess. Where'd you learn that trick?" He groaned deeply as she applied a rhythmic pressure; hand, lips and tongue all in perfect sync. Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear to afford himself an unrestricted view of one of his primary dirty fantasies being played out for real.

Dragging his eyes away from her ministrations for a moment, he ran his gaze over her body. Her prone attitude reminded him so much of the clay effigy Montgomery had created it was scary.

Dempsey trailed his hand down her spine, the glorious texture and radiating heat of her skin leaving him in no doubt that this Harry was the real deal.

Her slim build produced sleek, aesthetically pleasing curves that held him in rapture as she slowly brought him closer to ecstasy.

From the angle at which she lay he only had a glimpse of the underwear she still wore but suddenly it seemed imperative that he see all of her; that her whole image should be captured as a memory, melding with this intense pleasure to be recalled at will forever.

"Hey!"

Her eyes fluttered open, their blue violet luminosity causing his heart to stutter and his surge of pleasure to flex Harry's fingers.

"Kneel up here a minute."

But she carried on, taking in more of him, her lips squeezing down gently as she worked on the sensitive tissue.

"Wanna see you," he persisted.

The seduction in her eyes was firing him up. Just one minute more would have him at detonation point for sure.

"Come up here."

Reluctantly, she slid him out of her mouth, making him groan as she scooped lazily with her tongue as though licking a particularly scrumptious ice cream.

Dempsey was leaning back on his elbows but lifted an arm to caress her cheek, smiling.

"You look like a dirty angel," he grinned.

"I wonder if that might possibly make you the devil."

She sidled up beside him, letting go of her prize for the moment to kiss him. It started out soft and loving but they were both too excited from the contact that had just been cut short and the kiss soon became heated with Dempsey twisting himself over and murmuring hotly against her mouth, "Get up on your knees, princess."

This time she did as she was asked, raising herself up to look down on him, managing for once to enjoy the feeling of being under scrutiny because she was aware of the power she held over Dempsey right now. She had seen that look of adoration in men's eyes before but in Dempsey, it meant so much more. He was the player, used to being the one who snapped his fingers to watch the women come running with puppy eyes and kitten charms. But something in his look had changed over the last few months. Not only could she see it, she could feel it too; lust had turned to desirous love.

"If I could capture that image of you in my mind forever, I would," Dempsey growled.

His hand came up to cup her buttock, every nerve ending in his fingers sensitised to the feel of the tightly stretched apricot lace, his eyes drawn to the sheer panel at the front which gifted him with a sensuously obscured view of the dark bloom beyond.

"Not yet," he told her when she slipped her thumbs either side of her hips to hook the underwear down.

"Why?" Harry asked, really already knowing why.

"'cause they're way too pretty to cast aside like wrapping paper." His palm ran the curve of her buttock. "Wanna appreciate them for a while, wanna feel them…" Her blue eyes glowed intensely as she listened to his deep, magnetizing voice and she gloried in the reverence of his touch. "Wanna feel _you_ in them… an' I want you to play me while you're wearin' 'em." A soft filter smile lit Dempsey's face as he drank her all in. "Stir me up a little, ya know? Gimme a hard time."

Her heart was howling in ruttish anticipation. She wanted to fight against this shameless, corpulent desire, show him that she wasn't as malleable as she appeared nor as whoreish as she felt but she just couldn't.

A tug of the invisible rein brought her kneeling up astride him, too eager, panting inside, trot, canter, gallop, the rider and the ridden both.

Why couldn't she show restraint with him? What was it about Dempsey that transformed her into his empowered slave?

"That sounds like a lot of wasted time as far as I'm concerned," she pouted.

"You tellin' me you got an itch to scratch, baby?"

His hands gathered at her slim hips, thumbs rasping over the sheer panel of her underwear.

"Something like that."

Her voice was atremble. She was so obviously not in control of herself.

But Dempsey was transfixed. Never had he been with a woman who was fire and ice like this. It was like something took a hold of her. He could see that deep, incandescent shade of violet swirling in her eyes, restless and powerful as the sea and he knew that like the sea, she could consume him entirely.

He had come to understand the habitual coolness which persisted right up until the point where she broke; she needed to stay in control, even to the detriment of her own pleasure and even though she reached that pinnacle with such phenomenal ease. Did she think that made her weak? Or easy, even? But boy, when she actually let herself go, she was something else! Maybe a little ice during foreplay was fun but he wanted more of that hot-stuff Harry.

He ran his hands up into her waist and back out over her ribcage, finally resting over her small but full breasts – the perfect handful.

Harry leaned forward into his caress with a strangled gasp and he saw a frown crease her forehead.

What was that? He was doing something wrong?

She grabbed the backs of his hands and for a second, he couldn't be sure she wasn't about to pull them away from her. She looked almost mad at him! She bit down on her lip and forced his hands downwards, her eyes filled with algid frustration.

"Whoa!" Dempsey growled when unceremoniously they were pushed down between her warm thighs.

"Don't keep me waiting, Dempsey," she told him with quiet severity.

Dempsey decided he could cope with her being in charge if that was the way she needed to play it.

* * *

 **Chapter 23 to follow very soon.**


	23. What About Breakfast At Dempsey's?

**Chapter 23**

Dempsey stuck it out for twenty minutes or so, lying in the dark trying to guess the time, his shoulder aching like a bitch and the sweat gathering on his brow.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he spent another minute or so carefully extricating himself from Harry, trying hard not to wake her which wasn't easy as their limbs seemed to be all over each other.

He'd finished up on the 'wrong' side of the bed and hadn't been able to see the display on the bedside clock but now, as he loped from the room, he remembered that at one point, when things had got heated, it had been knocked to the floor and never retrieved.

Having taken three or four pills once in the bathroom, he emptied his bladder before going back to the bedroom and tip-toeing around to Harry's side to pick up the digital clock radio.

Six twenty-six. Damn it! Only another four minutes before the alarm. He could use another couple of hours at least. He placed the clock back on the bedside table carefully and padded around to his side. As he lay down and the mattress dipped, Harry rolled over leisurely, drawing a leg up over his and snuggling in.

"Where were you?" she asked sleepily.

"The bathroom. When you gotta go, you gotta go."

She sighed, pushing her cheek against his chest. "Hmm. Thought you'd deserted me again."

That brought a stab of guilt.

That first night they'd spent together, Dempsey had been up at the crack of dawn. The shoulder again. Coffee and pills in the kitchen, waiting for the pain to subside when she'd come looking for him.

He'd regretted that, regretted the fact that he hadn't been there to hold her when she'd woken up next to him for the first time.

He kissed the top of her head tenderly. "I'm here, princess."

She wriggled against him, a small chuckle in her throat. The movement jarred his shoulder but the warmth of her flesh felt good. Her hand had been resting on his belly but now slid lower.

"What time is it?" she asked, sounding considerably more awake now.

"Almost time to get up an' at 'em."

"Almost? Maybe I should give you a helping hand."

A mild stirring was taking place beneath the duvet as her palm softly stimulated him.

No, no, no! It cut him up to even think it but he couldn't deal with this right now. Another twenty minutes down the line and he'd be feeling fine but at this moment in time he wasn't convinced even Harry poppin' his wood was going to move the focus away from his shoulder. And if it rolled over into bumping fuzzies which he was certain it would, he'd be dead in the water.

He swallowed, trying not to grit his teeth.

Harry smiled and kissed his cheek sensuously, mistaking his grimace for ardour.

Shouldn't the alarm have kicked in? Any second now. Any second.

He tried to relax, taking slow, edifying breaths. The pain clashed bizarrely with the pleasure leaving him with a hazy, jumpy sort of feeling.

"I think we might need to take a rain check on this, tiger." He shifted his body a little so that he was on his side. "As great a job as you're doin', we ain't got the time for foolin' around."

Harry shifted with him, not prepared to believe there wasn't a few minutes to spare.

"What time is it?" she asked for the second time, prompting Dempsey to sit up so he could view the clock.

"Great!" he exclaimed. "The alarm didn't go off. Must of got bust when it hit the floor last night."

When Harry relinquished her hold to turn and look, he took the opportunity to slink out of bed and make for the door, grabbing his bathrobe from the back of the door as he went.

"Twenty five to seven!" she said to the back of his head. "We've got an hour and a half yet!"

"I wanna make you breakfast," he called from out in the hallway, "and besides, didn't you say you wanted a head start on me at the factory? Throw 'em off the scent?"

"I suppose," she called after him morosely.

Harry was disappointed and a little bit surprised that Dempsey had chosen breakfast over her. But it wasn't just that was it? There had been a distinct edge to his voice as though he was annoyed about something. It reminded her of last Sunday morning at her place when he'd got up early, leaving her in bed. He'd been snappy with her but that had been down to a hangover and the inconvenience of Jonathan's presence on top of that.

Maybe he just wasn't a morning person. But she'd never got that from him in the past, even when his platonic stopovers had seen her having to shake him awake a few times after he'd overslept on her sofa. She couldn't help but feel rejected now.

Forlornly, she too got out of bed and picking up her shirt from the floor, fastened up a couple of buttons before following him out.

"Alright if I jump in the shower first?" she asked.

She could hear him filling the kettle as she spoke and walking into the kitchen, she found him massaging his shoulder.

His aggravated expression quickly transformed into a fixed smile as his hand fell away.

"Tea, right? You got enough sleep to manage without coffee?"

"Your shoulder's still bothering you a lot, isn't it?" Harry frowned.

He fetched a teapot down from a cupboard and took teabags from a small box of P.G on the side.

"It's fine. Really. Just wish you'd quit mentionin' it all the time."

He was still smiling but his voice wasn't.

"It's hardly all the time! And I'm concerned, that's all. It's obviously still causing you a problem."

"What problem? I don't see no problem apart from you keep tellin' me I got a problem!"

He chuckled to highlight the fact he was speaking in jest but even so, he didn't sound very convincing.

"The one you're not wanting to talk about. If it still hurts, go back to the doctor for heaven's sake!"

The fridge door was slammed shut and Dempsey dumped the milk beside the teapot.

"I'm dealin' with it, okay?"

"Not very well by the looks of it."

Their voices rose and clashed.

He still had his back to her but she could tell from his stance that he was tensed up and possibly about to let loose a couple of rounds.

But he turned around, all smiles. "I'm sorry. Guess I just expected it to be all fixed up by now, ya know. You know patience ain't one o' my virtues."

"When was the last time you saw a doctor?" she asked tentatively.

Dempsey pretended to think. "Five…maybe six years ago. She worked on the cardiology unit at LaGuardia Hospital, Queens. We only dated a couple months…our shift patterns clashed, you know how it goes."

Harry totally ignored the provocative answer and the smug grin.

"You haven't been seen again since you came back to work have you?"

Dempsey turned his back on her again, busying himself with cups.

"No need. I was told from the get-go by a guy much smarter than either you or me that it was gonna be a long process."

Harry picked up her overnight bag which had been stashed beside the breakfast bar.

"Well I think you need to go back or get a second opinion even."

"Maybe I will. We'll see. Now how 'bout this tea."

So that was it. Subject closed.

He held the freshly boiled kettle up and asked, "You want me to make it now? How long's it gonna take you in the bathroom? I know you don't like when it sits too long and gets… what is it you call it?"

"Stewed," Harry supplied.

"Stewed! Right."

She gave him a long look which said, _I know you're avoiding the issue but don't think you're going to get away with it forever._ Instead she stated evenly, "Won't be long." She knew there was something very much amiss and it grieved her to think Dempsey wasn't being completely honest with her. Had he been in such pain that it had driven him from his bed? From her? And how many of those painkillers was he taking still? She thought back to Sunday morning when virtually the same thing had happened, him getting up so early, only then she had actually caught him taking the pills.

Harry stopped brushing her teeth in mid-stroke and stared at her reflection in the bathroom cabinet mirror, a current of unease passing through her guts. _'Caught'_ him. That had been exactly how it had felt; like she had caught him out in some clandestine, shameful conduct. The look on his face had read as guilt, hadn't it? She had found him out only at the time, she hadn't even realised it.

She had to have this thing out with him, find out exactly what was going on otherwise what they had was going to fall apart almost before it had begun. But now certainly wasn't the time with only an hour before she had to leave for work.

She stood in the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her back, her body enveloped in the fresh citrus scent of the shower gel Dempsey used.

She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay and at the same time, she wanted to thump her fists against his chest and scream in his face. Just when she'd thought all their troubles had been resolved there was something new to blight the relationship.

Why couldn't he just be honest with her?

* * *

He set the mug down in front of her, liking the way her hair looked when it was all damp and tousled like that.

He felt on top of things again, back to normal although 'normal' had its own spectrum these days.

"I got jelly or peanut butter," he offered, watching her spread her slice of toast.

"Just butter is fine," she smiled, having already declined the offer of a full English, a variety of egg options, croissants and even pain au chocolat. Since the penny had dropped, her appetite had diminished somewhat.

But there was a discernible change in his demeanour; he was more at ease, buoyant and cheery she noticed. It all seemed so obvious now didn't it; the pills had taken effect and he was out of pain.

Tonight, then, she would have it out with him after work. She would have to be blunt, no equivocation otherwise he would worm his way out of the conversation again. Another realisation came to her – he hadn't had a drink last night except for a couple of sips of wine. He couldn't drink alcohol could he, not on that sort of medication because look what happened when he did! He'd had the hangover from hell on Sunday morning, not from mixing his drinks but rather mixing codeine with alcohol.

He was grinning at her from across the breakfast bar, a silly, loving, lopsided grin and it made her want to cry because now she knew that underneath, he was hiding his secret from her.

Impulsively, she reached out and covered his hand with her own. "I do love you, you know," she told him quietly, needing to convey at that moment words that might give him the strength to purge the Machiavellian effects of the medication.

"Makes me drunk happy hearin' you say that."

He'd stopped eating, a spoonful of muesli paused in mid-air.

Harry looked down as their fingers twined, the irony of his expression bringing a certain amount of despondency. "It's going to be a bit weird though isn't it, whichever way we play it."

"You mean at work or in general?"

"All of it… it's all going to be… I don't know… odd, I suppose."

"Sure it is at the start but we'll get used to us bein' together an' then we can sit back an' watch everybody else freak out," he made google-eyes and laughed, amused by his own words.

Harry rolled her eyes but then asked, "You're still alright with keeping it to ourselves for now though?"

"Makes sense, right? Once we've had some time to get comfortable, that's when we come clean."

"And you're sure we shouldn't tell Spikings right from the start?" Harry felt slightly uncomfortable with leaving their boss in the dark but whilst personal relationships of a sexual nature between co-workers was frowned upon, between partners was without doubt going to be a definite no-no. And with good reason; how was one supposed to remain objective when faced with make or break decisions which concerned one's lover? But Harry had considered this in some detail over the last few weeks and had come to the conclusion that the actual state of being in a relationship was an almost irrelevant concern. It was the emotions which surrounded that relationship that dictated the daily functioning work edict. It wasn't simply about love or the physicality of love, it held true for care; compassion, plain affection and concern too. She had felt these things for Dempsey for what now amounted to years but the point was, she also felt them for her other colleagues at SI-10. In truth, wasn't it essential to feel something for those you worked with? If nobody 'cared' how would they keep each other safe from harm? In this line of work, you developed a bond, a trust that you could put your life in a colleague's hands and know that loyalty, camaraderie and duty would preserve you.

Did the fact that those feelings had spilled over into love actually make either of them any more vulnerable? Harry just hoped that was never put to the test.

"The boss is gonna be pissed whichever way he gets to hear about it so let's grab ourselves a few lungfuls of breathing space, huh?" He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles before letting go to concentrate on his cereals. "An' besides, haven't we had some laughs thus far?" He grinned. "Don't know about you, babe but tryin' to keep my tongue rolled up in my head an' my hands in my pockets has been kind of a turn on."

"Well just make sure other parts of your anatomy are hidden from view too," she quipped.

"I'll do my best but…" he leered, "it's real _hard_."

* * *

Harry didn't have time to eat her toast and only managed to glug down half a cup of tepid and yes, s _tewed_ tea after a second lightning fast shower.

With her towel dried hair scraped up at the sides with combs and yesterday's suit slung over her arm, Harry hurried to the door of Dempsey's flat, anxiously checking her wristwatch.

"Relax," Dempsey laughed, fresh out of the shower and dressed in only his shorts. "You're only runnin' a couple minutes late. It ain't called a 'quickie' for nothin'."

 _Would've been even quicker,_ Dempsey mused, _if she hadn't have got stuck in that 'don't you dare make me cum' groove of hers again._

Harry tutted but allowed herself to be dragged into his arms where the passage of time suddenly became not such an issue. The overnight bag thudded to the floor and her trouser suit slid to the ground as she reached up to fasten him to her. "I'm going to arrive looking a dishevelled wreck."

Dempsey's hand caressed the small of her back. "I like when you 'arrive' that way, all sexy an' sweaty."

"Ha ha, very funny. You know what I mean; it's going to look a tad suspicious, don't you think, late and a mess?"

"You ain't a mess," he assured her, "an' we're runnin' ten minutes behind, tops. The idea was you were gonna be in early and I'd follow behind putting me bang on time, remember?"

Harry liked the feel of his near-naked body against her and couldn't resist lightly running her hands down the length of his back. "So now we're both going to be late and that definitely looks suspicious."

She realised Dempsey was showing a pronounced interest and lifted an amused eyebrow.

"What?" he asked with blithe innocence. "Hey, how about we both call in sick? If we're gonna get busted, we should at least do it in style."

For a split second she thought he might be serious, particularly given his current physical state of excitement but his hold on her morphed into a friendly bear-hug.

"Okay, you need to go otherwise things could get tricky again."

"Next time you might try staying in bed," she pouted, "and eliminate that time I wasted having another shower."

She shouldn't be pushing him like this; it was the wrong situation completely but she just couldn't help herself. She needed to get a reaction, some indication that her mental accusations were justified.

He kissed her tenderly. "Definitely gonna bear that in mind, princess but I still wouldn't count on not needing that second shower." He winked, pressed himself against her and them slapped her bottom to indicate that he was letting her go. "Now scoot before I lose this precariously balanced self-control."

He had it bad – like, really bad he decided when he found himself hanging out of his apartment door, watching her walk away along the corridor with a goofy grin that he couldn't supress plastered all over his face. And she must've felt the warmth of his eyes coaxing her back – either that or she heard the splash of drool as it hit the ground… _that ass in that business skirt!_ But whichever, she turned her head as she rounded the corner and gave him one of her angel-eyed smiles before disappearing.

"Down boy!" he said aloud, adjusting himself as he eventually shut the door.

Just a few minutes later, he was dressed and began to clear the table of their breakfast crockery and food which stood largely untouched. Kind of like the Titanic maybe where the ballroom was left deserted but intact by the passengers or a scene out of the movie they'd watched at the cottage in Dirran, The Shining, in the haunted hotel… "Here's Jonnie!" his mind sang out and then he shook his head with vague annoyance. Jonathan Makepeace's name hadn't been mentioned once since they'd left the nursing home last night and that was just fine with him.

He piled the dishes into the sink where they would still be waiting for him after he got home tonight.

So why was he gonna be late into work, he wondered. Flat battery? No, he'd used that once before. Was waiting with his elderly neighbour after he'd called her an ambulance taking it too far? Probably.

The doorbell chimed out and assuming it to be Harry, he instinctively looked about him for whatever it was she might have forgotten to take with her.

"Missin' me already, tiger?" he laughed as he pulled the door open.

Harry wore a face like thunder, her suit still over her arm and still carrying her overnight bag and handbag.

"I need a lift," she snapped. "My bloody car's been twoc'd!"


	24. Tea & Biscuits

**I finished writing this ages ago but have been editing it for something like a fortnight *rolls eyes* It was almost ready to post on Friday but I've spent the entire weekend emptying out the contents of my kitchen to make way for the new one being fitted next week. It's quite liberating to throw out so many old, battered saucepans and baking trays along with several bin liners worth of plastic Tupperware-type tat :-D And this time next week I'll have a little breakfast bar/nook so I'm hoping that will turn out to be a good place to write.**

 **Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoy it. Now I can do the reviews I owe next week ;-)**

 **Chapter 24**

* * *

"You sure?" asked Dempsey.

It was an automatic response to the news that Harry's Cabriolet had disappeared from the spot where she'd parked it last night but still she took it personally.

"Oh, maybe I parked it illegally and it's been towed," she said with sarcasm. "Or more likely I just forgot where I parked it. That'll be it, won't it."

"It's happened to all of us at one time or another," he said defensively as she pushed past him. "Well, 'cept for me," he joked unwisely.

She ignored his wise-crack and marched to the 'phone on the wall. "I need to use your telephone."

"The number's nine, nine, nine."

"Please don't try to be funny. I'm angry."

She dialled and looked at her watch irritatedly whilst she waited for it to be picked up at the other end.

"Frank, it's Harry. Would you do me a favour and let our illustrious Chief Super know I'm going to be late? My car's been pinched."

There was a pause whilst Frank imparted some information that clearly denoted her request wasn't quite as simple as all that.

"Me? Really? He didn't give you a clue as to why?"

Another pause.

"No, I'm okay, thanks. I managed to catch Dempsey before he left; he's bringing me in."

She looked over her shoulder, seeing Dempsey shrugging into his jacket, a mischievous smile on his lips.

"No, don't worry, I'll call it in as soon as I get there."

She said goodbye and hung up.

"So you need a lift from me, huh? Mightn't that look _a tad suspicious_?" he echoed her previous words.

She gave him a tight smile. "Shall we go?"

* * *

"Mornin', mornin', mornin'." Dempsey gave a general greeting to his colleagues in the office. Harry on the other hand, despite having a 'legitimate' reason for both her late arrival and for travelling into work with her partner, was rather more subdued.

The mild ribbing she was certain to be on the receiving end of over the theft of her car wasn't even a concern. However, the advanced warning from Frank that Spikings had asked to be informed the moment she arrived most definitely was, that and the fact that two suits had made an appearance before seven thirty and were currently lodged inside his office.

Dempsey had told her not to sweat it; figured it was related to the Charlie Sachs murder case which still had a few loose ends that needed tying up. When Harry had questioned why it was only she whose presence was required, he had reasoned most convincingly that if the suits were from the Arts And Antiquities Squad (one of the longer loose ends) then Harry was by far the more knowledgeable and indeed eloquent one on the subject. Guaranteed Spikings would view him as more of a hindrance than a help.

There was an atmosphere of unease that Harry couldn't ignore and a feeling of nervousness took hold.

Chas deliberately caught her eye as he crossed the room to Spiking's office, offering a look of reassurance. He tapped softly and stuck his head around the door to let him know of her arrival.

Spiking's unusually sotto voce response gave her even more reason to be nervous.

"Ask her to come in would you, Sergeant Jarvis?"

Did the polite calmness mean that Spikings too was experiencing a bout of nerves?

She put her jacket on the back of her chair and her handbag beneath the desk, feeling curious eyes on her. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound jocund as she said to nobody specific, "Wish me luck."

Dempsey sucked his cheeks in, making a dismissive, clicky sound. "Be somethin' an' nothin', princess."

Unfortunately, he couldn't have been more wrong.

Harry knocked confidently and entered on Spiking's word.

Reflecting afterwards, for some strange reason it was the tea tray sitting on the desk which stood out in her mind. No chipped mugs or plastic cups from the vending machine for these boys. The important visitors were always presented with refreshments brought up from the canteen, the utilitarian pale green cups and saucers with matching sugar bowl and milk jug set aside for such occasions. And there was a side plate of biscuits too, an untouched assortment of chocolate digestives, bourbons and custard creams which was another gauge of ones' importance. If biscuits were provided at all, it was generally rich tea.

But these inconsequential thoughts only occurred to Harry much later whilst the dust was settling.

"Sergeant Makepeace, please take a seat," said Spikings.

He looked pale and very serious and she read both annoyance and defeat in his eyes, despite the posture of steel.

She could feel other eyes on her though.

One of the visitors rose from his chair, the other taking this as his cue and standing up likewise.

"That won't be necessary." Clipped and precise.

Harry took an instant dislike to the man. Somewhere around the fifty mark, he wore his slate grey suit like battle armour and his shoes were polished as though he were about to step out for parade inspection. His shirt was crisp white and as he stood looking impassively at Harry, she tried not to notice how his hair, grown over-long at the back, clung in tight, greasy curls at his shirt collar.

Smoothly, he took his warrant card from his inside jacket pocket and held it out briefly.

"Detective Chief Inspector Arnby and this is D.I. Pelliere." He indicated his colleague who was also displaying his credentials. This man was ten years younger and not quite so hell bent on giving off an intimidating air. Although he didn't smile, Harry felt that he was the sort of person who would need to remember not to. In fact, he even offered a civilised "Good morning, Detective Sergeant Makepeace."

"Good morning, sir!" She was careful to also include his superior and nodded her "Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector" with formality.

She was conscious of Spikings behind his desk, awkwardly passing his hand over the top of his silvery cropped hair and wondered at his gesture of agitation and uncertainty in the presence of subordinates. It all felt very wrong and if they were here about the Sachs case then it was to impart bad news in some form.

D.C.I. Arnby was a tall man and Harry found herself having to lift her head to make eye contact with him. There was a blankness there that she found unappealing to say the least.

"Detective Sergeant Harriet Makepeace, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Jonathan Makepeace. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence, if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

It took a moment or two for the words to sink in and Arnby had actually got to the end of his recitation before Harry had even begun to relate to the meaning.

She took a step back. "I'm sorry… you're arresting me?" The questions began to well up in her head to spill out of her mouth randomly. "What's happened to Jonathan? He isn't dead… you said attempted? Why the hell are you arresting _me_?"

She took another two steps back and swung around to look for answers from Spikings who was now on his feet. D.C.I. Arnby instinctively grabbed her by the arm, sensing or so he thought, the potential for flight.

"Don't worry, Sergeant Makepeace, everything is going to be fine," said Spikings in his finest hostage negotiations voice. "Our friends here from Scotland Yard haven't quite realised their mistake yet. They just need a couple of hours of your time to clarify a few things."

"Yes, Sir, I understand," she replied, trying desperately to sound in control of her emotions. With disdain, Makepeace slightly lifted the arm which had Arnby's hand attached to it. "I promise you I'll come quietly, D.C.I. Arnby." She smiled sweetly and with obvious sarcasm. However, the senior officer refused to be directed by a female subordinate arrestee and so chose to ignore her, instead guiding her stiffly to the door and with D.I. Pelliere dancing around them to assist.

The inhabitants of the outer office were all surprised when the door opened so suddenly. It had been scant minutes since Harry had entered and everyone had been expecting the interview to be somewhat lengthy, given that the big boys had been despatched.

Eyes flickered across to Spikings' office although with practiced care; heads remaining bowed and with seemingly no diversion from the job in hand. Only Dempsey watched openly, swivelling his chair to disengage his feet from the desk top, not out of respect for the senior officers but rather to stand swiftly.

"I'll be along directly, Sergeant Makepeace," Spikings said with gruff formality to her retreating back. "I just need to make a couple of calls first."

Dempsey had noted the way Harry was positioned between the two officers along with the restraining hand. He recognised the 'herding' tactics that went along with those determinedly impassive expressions. These two were on a mission and they had just located their target.

"Hey!"

He was up and bounding between desks.

"What the fuck is goin' on here?"

His arms were outstretched, sidling around to bar their exit.

"Dempsey!" boomed Spikings in warning fashion.

"No! I wanna know. What _is_ this?"

The rest of the office was now tuned in to what was happening, Frank and Dave rising from their desks, Jarvis halted in his tracks and viewing the situation with mounting concern.

"It's exactly what it looks like, Dempsey," Makepeace told him evenly. "I'm apparently under arrest for attempted murder."

D.I. Pelliere craned his neck to grab Spiking's attention. "If you could ask your officer to move aside, Sir…"

Dempsey was obviously starting to lose it. "Hate to break it to ya fellas but you've screwed up big-style." He was attempting to prise Arnby's hand off Harry, his arm about her waist and dragging her away only Harry herself resisted.

"It's fine," she whispered fiercely. "Just leave it!" Her harsh tone had the desired effect and he reluctantly took a step back.

"This ain't right." He looked from of the arresting officers to the other and shaking his head with incomprehension repeated, "This ain't right!"

Arnby was losing patience. He needed to get D.S. Makepeace back to base and begin questioning. It was going to be a lengthy and unpleasant process; inevitable when it was 'one of your own' because you couldn't afford to give an inch. Every clause, every loophole, every trick in the book was at a bent police officer's disposal. Not that this one was 'bent' exactly. It wasn't like bribery and corruption was the issue here. But then, murder was on another level entirely and who knew what methods she might employ to avoid incarceration. This initial interview stage might prove to be a game of cat and mouse.

"Of course it isn't right, Lieutenant Dempsey," boomed Spikings, "but there is a procedure to adhere to under these circumstances and obviously it is in the Sergeant's best interests to go along with whatever is requested of her at this stage."

Arnby was already with Makepeace outside in the corridor and Pelliere had effectively cut off Dempsey's contact with her by filling the doorway as he followed.

"I'm her partner!" yelled Dempsey. "I got a right to go with her."

The rest of the room had previously fallen silent but now a stirring of shocked cognizance had taken over and murmurs of dissent cast out a web of unrest as their female colleague was led away.

"What's going on, Sir?" asked Jarvis, his normally mild Scots accent sounding quite pronounced.

"What's she supposed to have done?" Frank asked, bewildered by what was playing out before them.

"Lieutenant Dempsey!" Spikings barked and then rather unexpectedly, grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket to pull him bodily back into the office.

Forgetting himself in that fraught moment, Dempsey rounded on his boss, a snarl on his lips. "Hey!"

"Get your arse back behind your desk and calm yourself down before you do something Sergeant Makepeace may regret," he told him sternly.

"You kidding me?" He whipped his head back and tried to make for the door again but Spikings wasn't about to give him that option.

"I told you to sit – now do it!"

The brute force that Spikings employed to shove him towards his desk took Dempsey by surprise and although he refused to sit either at or on his desk, the action did have the power to make him stop and take stock.

"Now listen to me, all of you."

Spikings was bristling as he took off his suit jacket and all but threw it onto Harry's vacant desk.

"Unfortunately, your eyes did not deceive you. You have just witnessed the arrest of our colleague, D.S. Makepeace,"

As he talked, he carefully folded back his shirt sleeves, whether in an effort to keep a check on his emotions or maybe a subconscious 'down to business' gesture, he himself wasn't aware.

Dempsey let out a sharp, contemptuous laugh. "Those clowns have made a big mistake."

"I completely agree, Dempsey, however, it's going to take a bit of time to set the record straight."

He looked past the seething American to address the rest of the team.

"D.S. Makepeace has been arrested under suspicion of the attempted murder of Jonathan Makepeace…"

"No fuckin' way… that's bullshit!" Dempsey stabbed an accusing finger in his boss' direction.

"That's her ex-husband, isn't it?" Fry asked tentatively.

"Her ex-brother-in-law," Spikings corrected him, frowning heavily at Dempsey. "Now, I don't know the full story – yet, but I intend to find out pretty bloody fast and get Harry back here before the day's out."

"What's on the charge sheet, Guv?" asked Chas, calmly, aware of Dempsey's angry frustration permeating the already tense atmosphere of the room.

"Hit and run…"

"Where?" Dempsey shouted. "When?"

"Jonathan Makepeace has been staying with a friend who lives in Wimbledon. At 6:30am this morning Harry's car mounted the pavement as he was walking towards the bus stop. He was knocked down and left for dead. He's currently in 's Hospital, Tooting, on life support and it's touch and go apparently."

"Her car got jacked off the street sometime last night… early this mornin'… I don't know when...," Dempsey expounded. "She didn't do it!"

Spikings looked pale, his usual vigour lacking as he addressed the belligerent Yank.

"Trouble is, there were two reliable witnesses at the scene who say that she did."


	25. Black Books

**Happy Christmas all!**

 **Sorry to say but despite it being Christmas Day, this is a singularly unexciting chapter.**

 **I'm hoping to get a lot more written over the next week because I'll be sunning myself on Lanzarote without a worry in the world. And as I was up at 3:30am and I've had a few drinks tonight, can you please overlook the fact that I haven't edited very well.**

 **As I'm typing this, I've just read that George Michael has died., scant hours after Rick Parfitt. And what with my all-time musical hero Leonard Cohen dying 10th November after a whole host of other legends this year, 2016 has been pretty lousy all in all. Roll on 2017 because it certainly couldn't get any worse!**

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

"Some old coot walkin' his mut and a pimple-faced eleven year kid deliverin' newspapers?! Seriously? Reliable witnesses?"

They were in Spikings' office and Dempsey was still refusing to sit. His eyes flitted restlessly over the tapestry of mismatched frames holding a mix of certificates, photographs and official documentation hung on the back wall behind his boss.

"The W.P.C who took the statements made a point of mentioning that the pensioner was as sharp as a tack and the child seemed mature for his years."

Dempsey just shook his head disparagingly. "Yeay, okay, let's hear it for the little lady cop with a PhD in psychology."

Spikings knew there was something Dempsey wasn't saying; something he needed to get off his chest and he had a pretty shrewd idea what that something was.

"She wasn't answering her telephone this morning," he said evenly, "nor was she at home when the boys in blue went knocking."

There was a brief silence whilst Dempsey decided whether to play dumb or not.

"So what? She got a life don't she?"

"Might I have been able to contact her had I tried your number instead?"

He slid open the top drawer of his desk as he talked and took out a slim black address book.

Dempsey was slow to reply, patting down the pockets of his leather jacket in search of cigars.

"Like I said, she's got a life."

"Sit down would you, Dempsey? You're making me nervous." He tweaked one side of his moustache and as though realising that the action did indeed reveal a certain discomfiture, sat back expansively in his chair.

"Lemme tell ya, you ain't alone. My partner's just been handed an attempted homicide rap an' I'm standin' here shootin' the breeze. You mind?" he asked, clearly not bothered whether Spikings minded or not as he pounced on the cigarettes and lighter sitting on the desk.

Spikings didn't comment but after Dempsey threw the packet back down, he lit one for himself.

"Okay, so how's this goin' down? How high do you have to go to get somebody with more than three braincells to realise they're way off beam here?"

"I'm on it. Don't you worry about that."

He began dialling a number, Dempsey finally sitting in one of the two chairs set before the desk.

"Yes, good morning. This is Chief Superintendent Gordon Spikings, SI-10. Sir Geoffrey, if you please." Dempsey inhaled a lungful of smoke, "Yes, I'll hold." … and exhaled with blusterous frustration.

Holding a hand over the mouthpiece, Spikings said, "I take it she spent the night at your residence, Lieutenant."

"So what if she did?" he asked, eyes narrowed against a thin veil of smoke.

"Come on, man! You know I'm only asking what you're going to be grilled about later. Your private life is about to become very public and believe you me, no stone will be left unturned once they get you in that interview room."

Dempsey hauled himself to his feet again and began to pace the suddenly claustrophobic office, sucking on his cigarette like he hadn't given up five years before.

"Okay, so we started somethin'. Figured we should keep quiet about it seeing as the Met ain't crazy about sex before marriage," he said sarcastically. "They should issue the female cops with chastity belts instead of handcuffs. Though maybe they kinda shot themselves in the foot there; gives us flaky, flawed, bestial dimwits even less self-control when we're mixing business with pleasure, ya know"

Spikings sighed heavily, depicting boredom with Dempsey's belligerent attitude.

"Yes, alright. You're only human – I get it. I didn't write the rule book… Sir Geoffrey? Thank you so very much for taking my call, Sir." He had slipped into 'brown nosing' mode or at least as near as he ever got to such blandishments.

Having explained the situation to the Assistant Commissioner and after getting his word that he would register his interest with those involved in the hit and run case, Spikings immediately began dialling another number.

"Whoever that big cheese was, I hope he's big enough to make a stink where it matters," Dempsey said darkly.

"Sir Geoffrey Mulholland is the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Directorate for Territorial Policing. The boys at the yard will be treading with extreme care once they get wind of his concern in the matter."

Dempsey took a drag of the cigarette and leaned into the desk to deposit the ash in the brown smoked glass ashtray at Spikings' elbow.

"The _assistant_ commissioner?" he griped.

He sat down, legs splayed and forearms resting on his thighs, picking furiously at the skin around the thumbnail of his left hand as smoke plumed up between the fingers of his right.

The second recipient of Spikings' attentions was a trickier mark. Once directed by the switchboard, he was forced to negotiate a receptionist and then a P.A. who, as he grumbled rancorously whilst waiting to be transferred, wanted to know 'the ins and outs of Meg's arse and the way to it'.

"Might this be young Master Teddy on the line?" Spikings shuffled into a more upright position, his cigarette momentarily hanging from his mouth whilst he made himself comfortable. He laughed heartily at the response. "Very well, old son. Very well. But then, I'm not a ten year old Fresian with a dicky ticker am I?" More laughter followed by more obscure banter.

Dempsey threw himself out of his chair and began pacing and smoking once more, frustrated that these old-school tie pleasantries were eating up valuable minutes. And then at last…

"Look, Ted, I don't think it'll have reached your desk yet but one of my officers, one of my very best officers is on her way to you as we speak – under escort. Detective Sergeant Harry Makepeace. Arrested just a few minutes ago. Arresting officers were D.C.I. Arnby, D.I. Pelliere. They suggested attempted murder after speaking to witnesses although the initial charge sheet states hit and run."

Spikings listened, nodding. "Yes, yes she's one of mine. Fine officer – she'll go far."

After answering a few preliminary questions, he frowned and said with dark gravity, "No. Absolutely not. In fact, I would stake my career on it; D.S Makepeace is a good, honest copper. Straight down the line but more than that, she's in my opinion, a woman of sound moral character and integrity."

He leaned forward, shoulders hunched with the 'phone pressed against his ear. "Therefore, I'm asking you, as a great personal favour, to watch over this one, at least as far as your workload will allow."

The serious expression softened just fractionally at the reply.

"Thank you, Ted. That would be very much appreciated. I mean, I daresay the whole thing will be cleared up in no time but just in case, you know, it's good to know you're happy to keep an eye on the situation, old boy."

"Can we leave now?" Dempsey agitated before the receiver had even hit the cradle. "I'll drive."

He stubbed out his cigarette butt with eyebrows raised.

"Dempsey," Spikings said ponderously. "Just sit down a moment would you?"

"Whatever you got to say, can you say it in the car?"

"No. I can't. Now just you listen to me because this is exactly the sort of hot headed attitude that will make things all the worse for Harry. You've got to rein it in, son, think it through for her sake."

Dempsey scrubbed a hand through his soft dark hair and turned away whilst he tried to calm his frustration. "Okay, okay. I read ya, boss."

Spikings wasn't always right in Dempsey's opinion. He was more than happy to challenge him if he considered it a bad call, even at the risk of being chewed out for it. But the chief wasn't a stupid guy; he didn't dismiss an idea or suggestion out of hand even if nine times out of ten he'd run with his own plans. And that was fine, that was how he'd got to be where he was today, by getting the job done right in the way he saw fit. The trouble was, Dempsey didn't want him to be right this time; his heart told him to kick against it though his head was telling him to listen to Spikings on this one.

He sat down in the chair, trying his damnedest to keep cool. He cleared his throat and asked, "Okay, so what gives?"

"Makepeace has a couple of the top brass taking an interest so she should be alright. I say 'should' because that view is based solely on my knowledge of her good character and clean reputation. But I think it might be a good idea for us to have a little chat about how serious this blossoming romance of yours is exactly. How involved in her life are you – outside the nine to five? Has she told you anything about this Jonathan Makepeace? Have you met the man?"

'A little chat' implied to Dempsey that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and he scowled, knowing there was really no way out of this.

"Yeah, I've met the guy."

"And?" Spikings pressed. "What can you tell me about him, about his relationship with Harry?"

"He's a nice guy," Dempsey acknowledged. "He fell on hard times recently and Harry was helping him out."

Spikings was immediately rapt. "How hard?"

"On the streets, hard. He'd lost his business, his wife, the whole nine yards."

"And he came to Harry for help?"

"Not exactly… not at first. She came across him hangin' around the Covent Garden tube station, pan handling I guess. She gave him money and her card an' he washed up a couple o' nights later at her place. She put him up for the night Saturday and he blew early the next morning. Left her a note sayin' he was grateful but didn't wanna put her out any longer."

"And as far as you're aware, nothing untoward happened during his stay? He didn't mistake her kindness for anything more? No mention of any light-fingeredness possibly?"

"I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character," said Dempsey. "Anything like that, I'd of been aware of it."

"You were there that night? And you stayed over too?"

This was bothering Spikings more and more.

That his two best detectives were embroiled in a secret love affair on top of the fact that one of them had been fingered for the attempted murder of the ex-brother-in-law they'd been associating with only two days previously, it just didn't look good for them.

"Is that a crime?" Dempsey asked sarcastically, picking up on the rasp of worriment in his voice. "I've crashed at her pad a hundred times and to the best of my knowledge, nobody else has nearly lost their life over it. I'm tellin' ya… no connection. We need to be lookin' further afield."

"I don't believe 'we' will be given the opportunity. SI-10 won't be allowed any involvement in this case, certainly not officially and I think you'll find you're very much in the thick of it on a personal level." Spikings looked him directly in the eye. "So. I think we should run through the facts. Give me everything you have on Jonathan Makepeace, Harry's relationship with him and all events over the last few days leading up to the incident in Wimbledon."

When Dempsey started to object, wanting only to be at Harry's side in as short a time as possible, Spikings silenced him with his quotidian ill temper. "Have some bloody sense will you. The girl could be in a whole world of trouble if this doesn't get resolved quickly. From what you've told me so far, you're her only alibi and given that you've been indulging in this little backstairs liaison, I don't think it's going to hold much water do you?"

With effort, Dempsey staunched the fierce frustration and anger that was threatening to erupt like a mini Vesuvius and instead drew on all his years of experience as a cop to deliver a succinct verbal report to the chief. They were on the same side and he knew in the long run they'd get faster results by working together.

"Now…" Spikings placed his hands down firmly in front of him on his desk and looked Dempsey square in the face, "you and the fair Lady Harriet."

The American threw himself back in his chair.

"C'mmon, boss! What, you want the details? I don't kiss an' tell so you're gonna have to use your imagination."

"You'd better not be messing her around, Dempsey. From what I've heard, you have quite a track record with the ladies," Spikings accused.

"Not for messing them around I don't," Dempsey fired back. "Besides, I'm serious 'bout Harry; this ain't just some casual fling."

Spikings put his head in his hands. "Oh God! Why do you always have to make my life so bloody difficult? I knew something was going on with you two when the temper tantrums stopped. You've been far too agreeable of late, the pair of you."

"So everyone's a winner."

"If only that were true. You realise that this… relationship you're having will reflect badly, don't you? Attractive female copper on an attempted murder charge found to be romantically involved with her partner. Secrets make a situation like this ten times worse; suspicions are raised. You know that. And I daresay I'll be hauled over the coals too for not being more aware. Plus, if I admit that I suspected anything, I'll still get it in the neck for not acting on _my_ suspicions."

"Sorry to drop you in the shit, boss but with respect, we didn't see this attempted homicide thing comin', ya know. Yeah, hindsight is a wonderful thing but we'd figured what you didn't know about wasn't gonna hurt anybody. The idea of bein' seconded to a different unit kinda stamped all over the happy news thing, ya know." He reached for another cigarette, this time without even asking. "Are we done? Can we go now?"

"Secondment wasn't the only option," Spikings told him with exasperation. "Surely you could've seen that between you."

"What, we'd get assigned new partners? That what you mean? Been there, done that, it don't work. Me and her – we work. Finito."

Spikings put away his black address book. "You haven't thought it through, Dempsey." He stroked his moustache briefly. "First flush I daresay," he muttered before continuing. "How long do you think it's going to last, living in each other's pockets twenty-four-seven? I may not be Marg Proops but I do know couples need time apart… God knows that holds true for myself and the good lady wife," he added with relatively little humour.

Spikings at last stood up to go.

"I just know I need her to do my job," Dempsey said. "And you have my word that whatever else I need her for won't interfere with that."

"We'll see won't we."

Dempsey nodded once solemnly in acknowledgement of his boss' acceptance.

"Right then, Lieutenant, let's go and extricate your girlfriend…" he managed to make it sound like Dempsey was in short pants and Harry wore her hair in pigtails, "from this particular fix she seems to have got herself into."


	26. The Drill

**Chapter 26**

* * *

The coffee had gone cold and formed an unpleasant skin over the surface.

He stared at it, feeling queasy.

When the telephone next to him rang, he jumped – again. It was the third time in half an hour it had sprung to life and on each occasion, it had been a shock.

He lifted the receiver to his ear with trepidation and announced himself.

"Job done. Meet me at 11:00pm tonight with the balance of payment. Same place."

Robert broke into a sweat. "Oh God, you've done it?"

Rhodes' voice was perfectly calm and unemotional as though merely passing the time of day.

"Of course I have, that's what you paid me for."

He stood up from his desk, fingers raking through blond hair as he experienced a choking sensation in his throat.

"How…? No, I don't want to know… I really don't want to know. I didn't think…"

"You didn't think what?" said Rhodes harshly. "I've done what you wanted, what _you_ told me you wanted and now I want remuneration. If you changed your mind, that isn't my problem, let's be very clear on that. Remember, 11:00pm at the park. You'd be a fool to let me down."

The connection was cut and a continuous, dull drone sounded in Robert's ear.

"No, no, no," he whispered under his breath. "No, no, no."

It was almost a chant. It wasn't true. It didn't happen. How could he have done such a stupid thing? He'd had his brother murdered and eventually, somehow the trail would lead to his door. He could skip the country, live in Spain maybe but now yet, not whilst his father was still alive. It was all a waiting game now and his darling ex-wife, whether she'd been having it off with Jonathan or not, had forced him to play his hand too soon. What had he had to go to _her_ for?

He hated Harriet for that and he hated her for still being relevant to him too. It was her fault Jonnie was dead – her fault that he still felt something for her albeit a twisted kind of wanting.

The pounding of his heart was reverberating throughout his entire body; staccato bursts of frenetic energy too much for him to bear.

 _Calm. Calm._

There was nothing whatsoever to link him to Jonnie's death. That was the whole point of a hitman wasn't it - no connections. People got away with it all the time, everything was circumstantial that was the thing. And he knew how to deflect attention, how to manipulate, that was his job for God's sake!

Strange but he felt no real remorse. Maybe that would come later when the idea that Jonathan was actually dead had sunk in.

And now he just had to carry on with his day like everything was normal. The important thing was to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Any abnormal behaviour would draw attention to himself and be flagged up should questions be asked at some point - which of course they would.

He glanced down at the cold coffee. He never normally left a cup untouched like that.

The weeping fig which stood in the corner of the room readily drank down the evidence of Robert's distractions and normalcy was restored, at least on the surface of things. Never-the-less, he still flinched when the 'phone rang again despite it being the low buzz of an internal call.

"Yes, Joan?"

His shared secretary couldn't keep the hint of curiosity from her voice as she announced, "I've got Sabrina Makepeace on line two, Robert."

Jonathan's estranged wife and his ex-lover was put through, sounding upset and edgy.

"I've just had the police on the 'phone… Oh, God, it's awful… it's Jonathan… I felt terrible because I haven't even seen him for weeks, well, months really but I suppose that technically I'm still his next of kin."

"Calm down and tell me what's happened," said Robert coolly."

"It's awful," she repeated tearfully. "It happened really early this morning apparently. A hit and run. The police said they think he was run down deliberately, like someone did it on purpose, like they wanted to kill him!"

 _Just cut to the chase can't you? I don't need the big, dramatic build up._

Robert injected a good dose of horror into his reply. "Oh Christ! Jonathan's dead?"

Again, the breathy, panicked tones. "Oh, Robert. Oh, I'm so sorry, I should've said straight away; no, he's alright… well, obviously he isn't alright. He's in 's Hospital in Tooting. He's on life support and they're saying he might not make it."

Every inch of Robert's skin prickled at that news. Jonathan wasn't dead! Rhodes had messed up. So now what did that mean? There would still be an investigation with all that implied only now he stood to gain nothing from the whole sorry episode. But even so, there was nothing to connect him to it and even if they got Rhodes for it, he seemed old school, honour amongst thieves and all that business, he wouldn't talk. Would he?

"Small consolation I know but at least we know where he is now. I hate to say it, Sabrina but for all we knew, he could've been dead already."

"I know," she replied with a shuddery sigh. "I want to go and see him but I don't want to turn up whilst you're there; I don't want him seeing the two of us there together. That wouldn't be right."

"No, no of course not," he agreed.

Suddenly, the fact that Jonathan was still alive seemed an awful lot worse than the idea that he was dead.

"They'll pull him back won't they?" he asked, trying to sound suitably worried. "I mean, they'll get him right again." Child-like, fraternal angst. "We haven't always seen eye to eye but…" a little crack in the old voice, "he can't die, not now I've got him back again." Too soap opera? Still, he had to admit it sounded extremely convincing, riding high on adrenaline and anxiety as he was.

"They've put him in an induced coma until they know he's stable. The police woman said something about a punctured lung and a broken leg and some ribs but it's the head injury they're worried about."

An induced coma! Now that sounded critical. Robert was keen to know what his chances were.

" 's Hospital you said? I'm leaving work now. Anything else I need to know before I go?"

"I don't know," Sabrina whined. "I only know what the police woman told me. Robert, will you please ring me after you've seen him; I want to visit afterwards. You know the number," she confirmed.

"Yes, of course. I'll be in touch. Let's just keep our fingers crossed shall we?"

If Jonathan was in a coma, there wasn't really any reason they couldn't visit at the same time. But if she didn't want to see him then that suited Robert just fine. He wasn't sure he could keep up the charade of sympathy and woe for too long anyway.

After buzzing through to Joan and briefly explaining the situation in suitably shell-shocked fashion he left work and headed for the hospital.

* * *

The interview technique was so painfully familiar to Harry. Starting off with friendly banter, calm and casual to soften her up before the hard-edged questioning began.

She felt surprisingly vulnerable being on the receiving end like this. The room, almost a duplicate of the interview rooms at SI-10 seemed austere and alien, something that was normally played to her advantage. The grey laminate table was pitted and scratched, the plastic chair hard and uncomfortable, things that she barely noticed under normal circumstances and the large faced clock on the wall in front of her seemed to have an exceptionally loud tick she noticed.

"And you woke up at what time did you say?" asked D.C.I Arnby for the third time.

"Six-thirty-five," she replied without hesitation or annoyance at the repeated question. The same thing would no doubt be asked again and again in various round-about ways.

"And the alarm clock failed to go off?"

"That's correct."

"Who set the alarm?" This from D.I. Pelliere.

"Lieutenant Dempsey did. It was supposed to go off at 6:30am." Harry kept her expression completely passive as she told him, "I think you'll find that explanation in your notes."

D.C.I Arnby smiled humorously. "Come now Detective Makepeace, you know the drill."

She caught the fleeting glance of D.I. Pelliere who was also wondering if the sexual innuendo had been intended.

Restraining herself with care, the instinctive, defensive crossing of her arms was quashed. "The alarm clock was accidentally knocked to the floor during the night."

"And this happened…" Arnby referred to his notes running his forefinger over Harry's previous response, "…'whilst making love'. Particularly vigorous, was it?"

 _Don't blush Don't blush_ Harry commanded of herself

"Very."

Arnby noted that her previous embarrassment had been vanquished.

"But if you were aware of it, why wasn't the clock retrieved and put back on the bedside cabinet at some point?"

She could be as forthright as necessary. They were only words.

"Because we were both exhausted."

A little smile from Pelliere and narrowed eyes from Arnby.

"We fell asleep," she added. "You know how it is… or maybe you don't." She smiled back with a serene devilment that felt like the upper hand for a moment until reality bit and she remembered that she was actually being held in custody and therefore there was no upper hand to be had.

As though reading her thoughts, Arnby said, "Let's just stick to what it is that _you_ know, shall we, detective? After all, it's your name at the top of the arrest sheet, not mine. Now, you say Lieutenant Dempsey was already up and about and he woke you up when he returned to the bedroom. At six thirty-five."

"At six thirty-five," Harry repeated sharply.

Good Cop Pelliere decided to step in at this point.

"Been partners for quite a while, Harry. Four years give or take a couple of months." He was flicking through a few sheets he had attached to a clipboard. "Looks like you make a great team by all accounts. You've worked some high-profile cases together. Top brass acknowledgement." He cocked his head, nodding in respectful praise.

Harry made no response, there being no question to answer.

"A good, solid partnership makes all the difference, doesn't it? When you know what each other's next move is likely to be, when you know what the other's thinking. Every copper needs to know somebody's got their back but it goes deeper than that sometimes. Like with you two. Especially now, with you being involved; nothing you wouldn't do for each other I'll bet."

Harry knew exactly where this was headed and she didn't like it.

"There are always lines that will never be crossed," she said quietly.

"Just a matter of where those lines are drawn though."

And then Arnby moved in with the stinger. "We all cover for each other from time to time; might be over filling in a chit, might be slipping off on some personal errand." He leaned forward so that his face was very close to Harry's, his dark eyes boring into her clear blue ones. "Or it might even be lying about where the other one was at a particular time to account for their absence."

"Dempsey has nothing to lie about," Harry cried.

"So you would have us believe, Sergeant Makepeace but we'll sound out Lieutenant Dempsey's version when he arrives. A pick up's gone out for him so he should he with us quite soon now."

* * *

Omitting the nature of their relationship wasn't an option. This was way bigger than hiding the fact that they were sleeping together and if Dempsey was Harry's only alibi then he was going to shout about it from the rooftops.

Right now they were attempting to make him sweat; using the same tactics they used on the perps. He knew it, they knew that he knew it too so what was the point? And they'd made it clear he didn't get to see Harry until all their questions had been answered 'to their satisfaction' as some jumped up desk jockey had put it.

There was a two-way mirror that was already making him see red even though he had no idea whether they'd put anybody behind the glass or not.

He stood up and put his face right up to it, cupping his hands about his eyes to block the surrounding light. He knew that given the darkness on the other side, you could sometimes catch the glimmer of a light from recording equipment or even a digital watch if the wearer absentmindedly checked the time.

Didn't look like there was anything to get excited over but just in case, Dempsey stood back and gave a casual salute before putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to whistle 'Colonel Bogey' softly through clenched teeth.

For half of the car journey, Spikings had instructed him on the importance of remaining cool, calm and collected throughout so now he was putting it into action. He hadn't raised his voice once since he'd arrived but he had a feeling that it was all in danger of going to hell the second this interview began to sound like an interrogation.

* * *

 **Sorry it was a bit of a boring one. It's always boring when they aren't together *sigh***


	27. Swimming

**Chapter 27**

* * *

Arby and Pelliere introduced themselves formally and Dempsey declined to have a solicitor present. Spikings had got him one on standby and checked that Makepeace's solicitor had been informed of the situation but at this moment in time they were both deeming legal representation unnecessary. Dempsey tried to infuse some confidence into his thoughts: these interviews and Spiking's backing would clear their names within the hour and then they could all get on with finding out the real story behind the hit and run.

"How's Jonathan doin'?" Dempsey asked before the questioning started.

"Last we heard there was no change," Pelliere told him. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, if things take a turn for the worse, you'll definitely know about it."

Dempsey was conscious that right now, they were using the softly, softly approach. Should this turn into a murder case, all hell would be let loose.

From the moment they'd entered the room, the recording equipment had been deployed to capture the interview, as had been the case for Harry too. Nobody was taking any chances when the words 'police officer' and 'murder' were uttered in the same breath it seemed.

For the first half hour, the questioning was all about establishing the facts and Dempsey handled himself with a laudable amount of equanimity. But when the questions began to take on a rather less than moderate tone, he felt his hackles begin to rise.

"So, everything was sweetness and light at this little gathering on Saturday night, was it?" Arnby wanted to know. "Jonathan wasn't the proverbial bad penny? The spectre at the feast? You telling me that the pair of you welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he'd effectively put the mockers on your night of passion?"

"Thanks for the compliment but I've yet to meet a woman who'd kill just to get me into bed," said Dempsey mildly.

"But his arrival created a bit of an atmosphere, possibly," Arnby persisted. "You said they'd rubbed along quite well when she'd been married to his brother. Saw each other as siblings, you said. I've always found that good friends make for fine enemies. It's my guess there was something between them, something from the past that had flared up again. Maybe when he paid a visit on Saturday night, it was to have it out with her." Arnby sat back, a thin smile playing about his lips. "How about that, Lieutenant?"

Dempsey laughed. "You got a real fertile imagination pal, but on this occasion, what you see is what you get. Guy needed a bed for the night, nothing else."

Pelliere looked up from his notes. "D.S Makepeace told you she hadn't met with him in four years, since well before the divorce from Robert Makepeace."

"Uh huh."

"Well," Pelliere frowned, "why would that be? If they'd been such great _chums_ , why no contact just because her marriage had failed?"

"I don't know. We never discussed it."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Dempsey was starting to feel a little frayed around the edges.

"It's just that if you were covering for your lady friend this morning, I can't believe you'd do it without asking some pretty searching questions."

"Yup. If I'd o' been covering for her, I guess I would of but like I keep tellin' you fellas, she was in my apartment all night long and didn't leave 'til gone eight this morning. You ain't just barkin' up the wrong tree here, you ain't even in the right park! Makepeace wasn't drivin' that car; she's been set up."

"We will of course be looking into that possibility," said Arnby, "but…"

"It's a fact!" Dempsey said, louder than he'd intended. But the intensity of his response seemed to set him off. "There is NO possibility that she could of been in that car at any point in the last twenty-four hours without me knowing about it."

Arnby nodded. "But obviously, we can't take your word for that."

Putting his notebook aside, Pelliere asked, "So who in your opinion who would want to put D.S Makepeace in the frame for murder?"

"You mean aside from every dirt-bag she took off the streets for a stretch in the slammer?"

"Anyone who stands out in your mind? I'm thinking an organised gang, a syndicate… drugs, weapons? Not the sort of thing a lone individual would be likely to arrange."

Dempsey decided that Pelliere wasn't all bad. At least he wasn't fixed on the idea that it was Harry like this creep Arnby seemed to be.

"Yeah, that's it exactly!" The pressure that had been brewing in his head eased off. "The Cheadle brothers. Went down four months ago. Jimmy Cheadle put it out that he was gunnn' for us. This could be payback." Dempsey's mind unleashed a string of possibilities and his mouth followed through. "Razor Middleton! He was runnin' with the Gorsey Gang in Croyden when me an' Makepeace bust their drugs op. wide open. He lost more than just his credibility; lost an ear too! Word was they blamed him for getting' suckered by our cover." Dempsey tugged at his ear. "Razor failed to keep an ear to the ground so they cut it off with his own trademark weapon of choice."

"Both instances you've cited there involve you too, Lieutenant," said Arnby. "Why would they target your partner specifically for this so-called set-up?"

"How should I know?" Dempsey threw back in frustration. "Who knows, maybe I'm next."

Arnby tilted his head with a slight smile which said it was extremely unlikely seeing as it was Makepeace who was to his mind, still the guilty party.

For the next hour, they went through the details of the previous night with admirable meticulousness, teasing out the finer points as they built up a picture of the proceedings. When the subject of their alcohol consumption was brought up, laughably, Dempsey found himself glad that he was able to recount Harry's amorous advances as a reason for putting on the brakes where the red wine was concerned. But it also bothered him to realise that he'd rather endure a somewhat uncomfortable probe into their sexual activities than reveal his budding romance with the painkillers.

And he needed something right now. The pain was gathering momentum in his shoulder and there was a dull ache at his temples. They'd finish with him soon; they'd had almost two hours of his time already and he was due a bathroom break for sure.

"Look, are we done here? I mean, I'm happy to keep goin' at this all day long only I hate to think of all that tax payers money you'd be wastin' seein' as Makepeace didn't have nothin' to do with this."

He'd been doing so well only now he felt he was on the edge of losing it if they kept him much longer.

Neither Arnby nor Pelliere gave any response, Pelliere because it was Arnby's call and Arnby just because that was the way he chose to play it. He could tell Dempsey's patience was wearing thin which wasn't necessarily a bad thing as far as he was concerned; more likely to let something slip. He'd heard that the Yank was one of those – what was termed, 'Maverick Cops', lots of brazenness, bravado and bluster riding on the back of a death wish. He'd come across the type before but suspected that the American version would be completely insufferable. Push this one just a little bit harder and he would no doubt display his true colours.

At last, Arnby gave a deep sigh whilst Pelliere continued to scan his notes.

"I'd appreciate a few more minutes actually. Nearly done though."

Dempsey resisted the temptation to massage his shoulder knowing he only had to hang on for a little while now.

"Why did Sergeant Makepeace and her husband split up?"

Dempsey smiled unpleasantly. "Well it wasn't because of Jonathan if that's what you're… wait a minute, like you didn't know already she caught him screwin' around."

Arnby raised an eyebrow. "No. We didn't. That's why I asked. We're still fact gathering at the moment. Maybe your lot at SI-10 have that sort of information at your state-of-the-art fingertips but we're doing it the old fashioned way.

Dempsey instantly regretted giving them that titbit. It was nobody's business but Harry's why her marriage had ended and he knew how sensitive she was over it.

"So as far as you're aware, Jonathan Makepeace was never a factor. You don't think there was ever any kind of…" Arnby paused, his hand plumping the air as he sought his phrasing, "minor dalliance?"

"I already told you – no," said Dempsey firmly.

"You asked the question then?" put in Pelliere who didn't look up from his note scribbling.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I did," Dempsey threw back.

"And was there any particular reason for that?" the copper asked.

"Why does anyone ask a question like that? I was curious."

Pelliere see-sawed his pen, each end tapping repetitively on the page of his notebook. He shrugged. "Just wondered if you'd had cause to potentially put two and two together; if one of them had said something that made you think."

"Nope." Resolute and uncompromising.

Arnby picked up the reins seamlessly. "There wasn't a look that passed between them? No intimate little gestures, nothing like that?"

"Nope." His self-possession was slipping like a towel from around his hips. If things carried on down this line he'd be left exposed and in danger of losing his self-respect.

"So they were just very close," said Arnby.

Dempsey scowled. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

"Of course not. It isn't like platonic, close relationships can't exist between men and women is it?" said Arnby pointedly.

The jerk was deliberately needling him to get some kind of a rise.

"And what was Harry's answer?" Pelliere asked conversationally, "when you asked if there'd ever been anything between them I mean."

Dempsey turned his head in Pelliere's direction, keeping the rest of his body motionless. "No."

"And that was the end of it? You didn't feel the need to take it any further?"

"Nope." His head was throbbing and he could feel the sweat standing out on his forehead. His hand came up to press against the front of his jacket, the hard-edged pressure reassuring him that the small plastic tub was still in his breast pocket.

"Maybe you didn't bother to ask because it wasn't any of your business. Maybe yours isn't the sort of relationship that entertains petty jealousies? More of a convenience bunk-up situation, is it?"

He was starting to unravel and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Seething, he leaned across the table with menace. "I just told you, I asked the question, her answer was no, there'd never been anything between her and Jonathan Makepeace and I left it there because she doesn't lie to me, okay?" His teeth were practically grinding up the words before he spat them out. "So now I would like for you and…" he set his jaw at Arnby's colleague momentarily before continuing, "little Miss Pelliere here, to get the fuck out of my face, okay?"

Arnby didn't even blink.

"Don't cross me, Dempsey. All I'm after is the truth and believe me, your attitude just makes me want to dig deeper and harder." He slid forward smoothly so that they were practically nose to nose. "Mind I don't bury you in the process, aye?"

* * *

Dempsey had found himself physically shaking as he'd barged his way into the toilets, cursing and kicking at whatever lay in his path. A metal swing bin had borne the brunt of his shoe leather, a swathe of screwed up paper towels cascading across the tiled floor. A few pills and a dowsing of cold water in his face had helped him climb down from the ceiling but then he'd locked himself away inside one of the four cubicles whilst he calmed down.

Ten minutes stretched to twenty, his mind pulling together what had just happened and how he'd undoubtedly made everything a hundred times worse. He'd managed to make his little problem one hell of a big problem for Harry.

* * *

"Thoughts, Mike?

"They were taking a break in the canteen whilst they awaited the arrival of their suspect's lawyer. She'd finally realised that this wasn't going to miraculously solve itself after they'd advised her again to take up her right to legal representation.

Lieutenant Dempsey who had been left to stew in his own juices for almost an hour had been granted a ten minute supervised visitation with her which was taking place currently.

"She's a cool customer alright," Pelliere replied.

"Mmm. She's got to be hiding something hasn't she?"

Arnby's ugly façade was down for the moment whilst they reflected on the morning's work. Pelliere never ceased to be impressed by his superior's ability to create such a forbidding presence in the line of duty. He was passionate about the job and usually got the results he needed and if he didn't come across as 'likeable' exactly then that was probably a small forfeit to his mind.

Mike Pelliere knew Arnby and his family reasonably well. They and their wives had been out to dinner several times. He had three great, well-adjusted kids who thought the world of him. Pelliere remembered the first time he'd seen them together, playing cricket in the back garden, laughing at their dad's antics and clambering all over him. And only last week when he'd popped in to say hello whilst picking up his boss, the kids, now all teenagers were still more tactile with Arnby than Pelliere's own far younger pair were with him. Nobody on the receiving end of D.C.I Arnby would ever dream he was such a good, solid family man.

"Well," said Pelliere, pulling out of his unofficial musings, "our American friend certainly gave us some food for thought."

"Didn't he just! Really surprised me to be honest. Hadn't expected the nerves to kick in like that at the end. The idea that Harry Makepeace had had anything other than a friendship with Jonathan really rattled his cage, didn't it?"

Pelliere agreed. "Something has to have gone off there, surely. Definitely knows more than he's letting on. Talk about breaking into a cold sweat; the bloke was practically doing the front crawl!"

"Shame he took that toilet break when he did but still, it'll be interesting to see what we get from the CCTV footage."

It hadn't been down to bloody-mindedness that Dempsey had been made to wait before he got to see Harry. Not only was there a uniformed officer present but they'd set up a camera to allow their meeting to be put under the microscope. Dempsey's display of nerves had set alarm bells ringing and it had been thought there might be some benefit in monitoring their first contact after the interviews.

Pelliere picked up a second packet of sugar cubes from the pot in the middle of the table and added just one to his half-drunk mug of tea. It was a bad habit he'd somehow got into and it annoyed his wife no end.

"You know," he said, stirring his tea thoughtfully, "I was quite happy to go down the 'framed' road initially but now I'm thinking it's the Makepeace family closet we should be having a good old root around in. I'll bet there's something tucked away in there that they'd rather the world didn't know about."

"Soon as you've drunk that sludge then, Mike, I think we'll get a few boys and girls Narnia-bound. Bit delicate this one though. A titled copper needs to be handled with care and I don't mean for her sake. Anyone in your team you fancy for it?"

* * *

 **I promise that in Chapter 28, we'll see Dempsey and Harry together but I have to admit I quite like keeping them apart and in turmoil because it's nice to think of all that 'need' for each other going on LOL**

 **Thanks very much for reading; it's great to know that there are people out there who enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it ;-x**


	28. Body Language

**This chapter is dedicated to Noa and Leo. Although they could never read any of these stories** **, they were always a part of a different kind of story. #YKWYA**

 **#RIPovertherainbow**

 **XXX**

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

P.C. Steve Strelley felt awkward.

Normally, it didn't bother him in the slightest, sitting in silence with a suspect; water off a duck's back in fact. But this was a bit different wasn't it? This was a detective sergeant from that elite SI-10 team over in Hammersmith. And not only that, she was a bit tasty so his natural male instinct made him want to have a crafty look in her direction.

He'd managed a few veiled glances during the ten minutes they'd been waiting and he'd seen how she sat very prim and proper behind the table, unmoving, her expression neutral. There was no twisting of fingers, no biting of lips, no shuffling about or messing with her hair as was so often the case. But those beautiful blue eyes gave her away… they looked haunted.

When the American Lieutenant entered the room, she lifted her head and Strelley noted the way she leaned forward just very slightly when their eyes met. He'd heard a rumour that he was giving her one and was now inclined to think that was true. They were doing that silent communication thing, that 'are you okay?... I'm fine, don't worry… how can I not worry?... I just want to go home…' eye contact conversation.

Sergeant Lincoln who had escorted him in said gruffly, "Ten minutes then I'll be back for you Lieutenant Dempsey."

"Make it fifteen and I won't jag your ride when I leave," replied Dempsey in a not unfriendly tone as his eyes caressed Makepeace's face.

Sergeant Lincoln stopped in his tracks, taking a second to come up with the translation.

"Oh, right," he chuckled. "No can do I'm afraid… and I cycle to work."

Dempsey turned his head and grinned. "Then I hope you got a puncture kit."

That tickled Lincoln who left the room with a smile on his face.

"How's it goin'?" asked Dempsey quietly.

He sat in the chair opposite Harry and slewed himself around so as to shield both of them from P.C. Strelley. That suited Strelley fine though because now, although he couldn't see their faces he could watch their body language without much danger of being caught staring. Ears attuned, he listened for her reply.

"I don't know. I'm starting to think they actually think I did it. I've had to ring Roger Sears… my solicitor."

She sounded feisty and indignant, like she was prepared to take on the world.

"You want me to do anything? Should I call Freddie, let him know what's goin' on?"

 _Who was Freddie?_ wondered Strelley.

"No, not yet. I'd rather not worry him at this stage. I'll see what Roger has to say first."

"Sure. You're right. Whole thing'll be wrapped up by the end of the day anyhow."

"You think so, do you?" And now there was a note of sarcasm, a belligerence in her response. "I saw Spikings a bit ago. Says he's got the Assistant Commissioner involved but I don't see much evidence of his involvement to date."

"Hey, who knows, maybe you'd have a noose around your neck if it weren't for him."

Strelley listened to the ensuing silence and then saw Dempsey reach across the table.

"Okay, I'm sorry, Princess. That was in bad taste. I'm an idiot. Just that this whole thing is a joke."

More silence.

"Don't freeze me out, babe. Talk to me."

"Talk!?" Makepeace hissed. "Talking is all I've been doing. The same thing over and over like a recurring nightmare I can't wake up from."

"Guess it's called the other side of the fence," he sympathised.

"Who do you think's behind it? Andy why was Jonathan involved in it? What's the connection?"

"I wish I knew. I was thinking Razor Middleton or maybe Jimmy Cheadle…"

"No," Makepeace cut in. "Why would either of them bother to include Jonnie? Any unfortunate soul who happened to be on the street this morning would have fitted the bill if it was just about me."

"Not if they wanted to make it stick. Some kind of connection… any kind makes it plausible."

"So someone's been watching me for the last few days then to know about Jonathan… watching us." She looked at him critically. "Not likely to have upset anyone you know, seeing us together?"

Strelley picked out a casual bitterness invading her words and took it to be a personal jibe at the American. Friction always had potential when a suspect was involved.

"C'mmon now," Dempsey said softly so that Strelley had to strain to hear.

He leaned a bit further in and reached out a hand to touch Makepeace's cheek.

"An' how you doin', Princess?"

She pushed his hand away. "Don't."

That seemed to surprise the Yank. "Harry… you told 'em about us, right?" he whispered urgently.

"Of course I did. What do you take me for? There was obviously no way on earth that could be swept under the carpet was there?"

 _Got a sharp instrument in her head this one._

"Then what's the problem?"

 _Subtly wounded_.

"I just… I just can't…"

Dempsey drew back. "'kay. Though I don't see what difference it makes."

Her reply was so quietly spoken that Strelley caught only a few words.

"… separate… compartmentalise… distance…"

 _Sounded like she wanted to keep it on a professional level. Well good luck with that darlin' because the job didn't really come into it; it was all about whether she had or hadn't mown down some poor sod in the street._

There came a brief knock on the door and another uniform stuck his head round.

"Jessop wants you."

"What now?" Strelley asked, surprised but already on his feet.

He glanced across at the two SI-10 officers who were now looking in his direction before leaving silently.

"Well that was nice of 'em, givin' us some alone time," quipped Dempsey without much enthusiasm.

He tried to take Harry's hand but she snatched it away, holding both hands up off the table as though she had been threatened.

"I said no, Dempsey! Once I start to see this as anything other than a case, I might as well give up. I can't cope with you being nice to me."

"Just a little moral support, Princess but we can talk turkey if it makes you feel better."

He decided that her determined expression alone was fair warning and sat back to give her space.

"Whoever did this must've been following my every move. I drove directly to your place from Harrington Manor which must mean they followed me there from SI-10 and logically they also know my home address too."

"And not just _your_ movements they've been tracking; they knew where Jonathan was staying," Dempsey pointed out.

"Why?" she cried, exasperated. "What have I done that would warrant me being implicated in a hit and run?"

"And if someone is willing to commit a murder like that, why would they target a third party? Why not just go for you?"

"Exactly," Harry sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"So are we thinking it's an eye for an eye scenario?" he asked. "Somebody out there feelin' wronged? Slammered for a crime they didn't commit?"

"It does have a grudge feel to it, doesn't it," she agreed. "I'd ask you to run a check on arrests claiming wrongful conviction but…"

"But nothin'," Dempsey threw back. "SI-10 may be out of the game as far as the investigation goes but the computers ain't gonna be on lockdown."

Harry looked at him glumly. "Dempsey, you can barely switch the things on let alone navigate your way around a database."

"Then it's a good thing I'll have you there to do it for me."

Misplaced optimism. Whilst Harry appreciated the attempt, she wasn't under any illusion that she was likely to be released this afternoon.

"Maybe better left in The Yard's hands and who knows, Spikings' connections might just come up trumps for me."

Dempsey suddenly looked extremely serious.

"Don't ask me to leave this thing alone, Harry 'cause you know that ain't my style, and especially not when it's about you. I care about you too much to sit around on my ass an' wait for somebody else to find the answers.

He refrained from laying the 'L' word on her; she wanted to keep it professional and he understood that but there was nothing wrong with caring. He was allowed to care about his partner.

"You're too involved yourself. If you go digging around there could be consequences for both of us. I know your natural inclination would be to do a bit of investigating on the sly but I really would prefer it if you didn't."

He had to smile. She was sounding so reasonable when he knew deep down she was a cauldron of negative emotions.

"Okay, 'cause if this thing were switched around, you'd be happy to stand down and watch how slow those cogs turn in the justice system, huh? That's what you'd do, right?"

"I would if you asked me to."

"Is that so?" he asked, fully aware of the lip service.

She held his eyes, practically staring him out. "It is."

"You know, Harry, I told D.C.I Arnby back there that my partner don't lie to me…"

"Rather a rash statement."

"I don't think so."

Harry raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

"You ain't tellin' the truth, then your body steps in an' sets your mouth straight. I know how to read you; I know what to look for. Like that little tilt of the head you do…"

"I don't think so. I'm very conscious of my body language, Dempsey…"

"… and the way you don't blink."

Harry looked put out.

"'cause blinking too much is a sure sign you're lyin', so you overcompensate and don't blink enough."

He grinned then, "See, I like to study your body for all kinds of reasons."

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Harry smiled back at him.

"Fool!" she accused.

"Only for you, angel. Only for you."

His warm gaze and dark brown voice soothed her; made her feel as though he actually had his arms around her, comforting her physically.

"Please don't do anything stupid, James."

Her words brought a curdling sensation to the pit of his stomach. It was too late, he'd already dragged stupidity into the arena, kicking and screaming and he couldn't take that back.

Sitting in the bathroom stall, it had really come home to him how much of a problem his habit had become. Because of the pills, he'd let Harry down, tarnished her rectitude in the eyes of those who could smooth the pathway to proving her innocence.

And to compound his guilt, he didn't even have the balls to come clean about it – to them, to her, not even to himself… because if he had, he'd have ditched the pills long before it had come to this.

* * *

It was almost 6:00pm by the time Makepeace was released into the custody of Chief Superintendent Spikings.

It had been a close call but until an identification line-up could be arranged, no positive I.D could be made and therefore the evidence was deemed circumstantial. She could have been held overnight 'pending inquiries' but the C.I.D Assistant Commissioner's input had swayed the decision somewhat.

Dempsey had been prepared for the long-haul but it had been made clear that he wasn't welcome and Spikings had pointed out that he was paid to work at Hammersmith, not hang around Scotland Yard so he could bugger off back to SI-10 and stop making a nuisance of himself here. Grudgingly and with a promise from Spikings that he would be kept informed, Dempsey had headed back around 2:00pm to a barrage of questions from his colleagues. He'd given them the bare bones which obviously had made them all the more hungry for the meaty details but seeing as Dempsey really wasn't in the mood for feeding time at the zoo, just twenty minutes later he was out of there and headed for Wimbledon, scene of the crime and home of Jonathan's friend, Mike Campbell.


	29. Hyde & Seek

**Happy Easter, all!**

 **Another boring chapter without #them in it but just got to move the plot along. I know you'd much rather be reading about D &M getting up to all sorts of sexy, chocolatey Demparry antics with the Rampant Easter Bunny but sorry, it ain't happening ;-)**

 **You'll just have to use your fertile imaginations for that one. Chapter 30, however, might be another story...**

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

It was a nice neighbourhood, Dempsey surmised.

There were differences between the British housing social structure and the American way of living he'd realised. It was harder to categorise over here because there were so many more layers of society living in such a wide variety of buildings spanning many eras and in some areas, many centuries. They just weren't so cut and dried over here; nothing was obvious to the State-side eye.

So he was learning, little by little but just like The States, whatever the place, it never failed to surprise him what went on behind those closed doors sometimes.

He'd expected Mike Campbell would be at home and he was right. A guy who'd spent most of his morning being interviewed by police didn't much feel like heading off to his place of work afterwards in his experience.

Campbell rubbed tiredly at his eyes as he was shown Dempsey's warrant card.

"I've already spent four hours at the police station today giving a statement and I did say I'd be in touch if I remembered anything I thought might be important."

"I appreciate that, Sir but I'm with a different department an' hopefully I got a different set of questions."

"Okay, you'd better come in," he said resignedly.

Dempsey followed the barefoot Campbell into the warm, carpeted hall and took a sharp right into the front room.

"Take a seat…sorry, 'Lieutenant' was it? I thought they only had those in the army. Shows what I know."

Dempsey sat by the window, glancing out to take in the view of the street. "If we had their numbers we'd be laughin', I tell ya."

If Campbell had been at the window when the hit and run happened he'd have seen the whole thing but he was guessing that wouldn't be the case given that it had been at 6:45am.

"So Mister Makepeace has been staying here the last couple of days," Dempsey began, conversationally.

"Yes, it was just until he'd got himself sorted out with a job and somewhere more permanent to live."

"And that's what he was doin' this morning, he was goin' on a job interview. Where was that at, you remember?"

"Roseby and Fontaine," said Campbell, moving a newspaper out of his way before he sat down on the sofa. "I told the police this morning, I thought it might've been Cochrane but I've remembered now, it was definitely Fontaine."

Dempsey had his notebook out and scribbled the reply down. "And what was the job? Mr Makepeace was in advertising, is that right?"

"He had his own marketing agency up until six months ago – I daresay you're aware of that. But he was quite happy to start again. The position was for a copywriter… well, that's what he thought it was, it was all a bit vague apparently."

"How so? Where'd he find out about it?" asked Dempsey.

"He got a 'phone call yesterday, late afternoon. An agency who'd put his name forward, saying they'd like to set up an interview with this Roseby and Fontaine."

"The name of the agency?"

Campbell shook his head. "Honestly no idea but I do remember Jonathan saying he didn't recall signing up with them. He said he got the impression there was something underhand going on somewhere along the line; like they were poaching business or something. Anyway, the chap got him on an interview so he didn't care. Seven forty-five somewhere on the Southbank.

Dempsey jotted that down too. "It was a guy who called? He said it was a guy?"

Campbell pondered that for a moment. Yes, yes he did."

So there were at least two people involved; a man and a woman.

"A quarter to eight sounds kind of early," he commented.

"Not really. Lots of employers like to interview before the start of the working day; doesn't interfere with real work that way."

"Okay, so we got Roseby and definitely 'Fontaine' in the city. Did Mr Makepeace write the address down someplace?"

"Of course."

"He write it down in a notebook maybe?"

"Yes but…"

"He tore the sheet out and took it with," Dempsey finished for him. "May I see the notebook?"

After a brief pause, Campbell chuckled. "You know, that's probably the first thing you've asked that the others didn't but it's so obvious!"

Dempsey turned over a page and shook his head, a small smile covering his mild annoyance. "Detective school one-oh-one," he agreed. It hadn't occurred to those shit-for-brains bozos at the mighty Scotland Yard that they could get Jonathan's destination this morning from the impression the pen had made on the pad of paper? Jesus, it was stupid omissions like that that could land Harry in the big house.

Campbell fetched the notepad in question from a bookshelf on the back wall.

"He's been writing stuff in this… handy for the 'phone." He indicated a telephone on a small console table at the side of the shelving. "It'll be the last thing he wrote," he added.

The double meaning struck a bum note with Dempsey.

"Have you heard from the hospital since this morning? You know how he's doin'?"

"I called an hour or so ago. No change. I've been given permission to visit later though."

"Well I hope he shows some improvement."

"Me too. I don't suppose you can tell me if you've arrested the sister-in-law yet? Not at liberty to say and all that."

"An arrest has been made," Dempsey replied tightly, "though it won't stick."

Campbell's lip curled. "You mean she's going to get away with it?"

"I mean she didn't do it." Dempsey was feeling uncomfortable. "Where'd you get that information, Mr Campbell?"

"I was told this morning when I was giving my statement… I don't get you," Campbell said, puzzled. "I was told you've got the number plate… there were witnesses who saw her and everything."

"Look, Harry Makepeace is the owner of the vehicle but she wasn't the woman drivin' it this morning."

"Oh, so the car was stolen?"

"Yep."

Campbell appeared to consider that. "Stolen by a woman who was driving around in it at that time of the morning?"

"Uh-huh."

"But why has the sister-in-law been arrested if you know she didn't do it?"

" _I_ know she didn't do it and _I_ gotta prove it. And for the record, she's the _ex_ -sister-in-law."

Campbell couldn't quite fathom out what was going on but could see that Dempsey was bent on fighting Harriet Makepeace's corner.

"Okay if I keep this?" asked Dempsey, holding aloft the pad Jonathan had written in.

"Whatever you want if it'll help.

"Thanks." He dropped it on his lap, finding his gaze drawn to the street again.

A nice neighbourhood. This would be a big deal for the kind of people who lived on this street. They had safe lives. They had two point four kids, a dog and a lawn out back. They had what Dempsey was finding himself thinking about a lot more these days.

"Okay. Round two. How d'you know Jonnie?"

He explained how they'd met at Oyster Marketing and become good friends but drifted after Jonnie had decided to go it alone.

Dempsey asked if he knew any family members, guiding him into his knowledge of Harry.

"I did meet his _ex_ -sister-in-law once if that's what you're asking. Only briefly, at a wedding reception I believe it was. Nice girl from what I remember. I can't imagine why she'd want to do him any harm, particularly after she'd put him up overnight. And he'd honestly got nothing but good to say about her."

"Does he have a soft spot for her you think?" Dempsey queried mildly.

"A soft spot?"

"Yeah, you know, is he sweet on her?"

Campbell's countenance darkened. "I know what you're getting at; did he try it on, did he go too far? Well the answer is no. You couldn't wish to meet a nicer guy. He's a gentleman… exactly that – a gentle man. And besides, her boyfriend was staying at her place that night so that scenario's dead in the water I'm afraid. It's all in my statement. Don't you lot ever get your heads together?"

"I'm aware of what happened Saturday night," said Dempsey, tersely, "an' like I said, she wasn't behind the wheel."

It had been wrong of Dempsey to ask; he should just have accepted what Harry had told him but he couldn't miss the opportunity to find out if Jonathan really had harboured anything more than brotherly love for her.

"I'm just castin' a net, seein' what I can drag out of these murky waters." He fixed on Campbell long enough to confirm that he was in charge here. "So is there anyone you can think of with a grudge against Jonnie? Anybody he might've tangled with in the past? Any ongoing feud?"

"No!" Campbell was emphatic. "Honestly, he's one of the good guys. Maybe it's Harry's side of things you should be looking at. He told me she's in the police force now. Pretty easy to make enemies I'd have thought."

"That angle is being looked into but I'm concentrating on Jonnie's side of it right now."

"Wait a minute…" Campbell slowly raised a finger as light dawned. "You're the American who was there on Saturday night aren't you? You're the boyfriend he told me about." He nodded to himself. "Of course you are," he answered his own question. "Bit slow on the uptake but I got there in the end. And a police detective wouldn't refer to him as Jonnie unless he actually knew him would he?"

Dempsey smiled slowly.

The boyfriend. That sounded weird. It echoed around in his head, the word bisecting and reforming a few times, ambiguous, indefinite, warming, just plain silly when associated with Harry. They were more than just 'friends' now and Dempsey hadn't been a 'boy' in a long time.

"He tell you why his company folded?"

Campbell was thrown off balance by the way Dempsey had blanked his deductions.

"Erm… a bad investment. Some financial scheme that turned sour. A con job by all accounts. I didn't push for details because he was obviously embarrassed. Who wants to admit they've been had? But he did say he'd had very good reason to believe it was Kosher; a totally trustworthy recommendation apparently."

"He get the cops involved? Fraud squad?"

Dempsey now regretted not asking Jonathan these questions himself when he'd had the opportunity but there had definitely been a reluctance to discuss it and it hadn't been his place to interrogate Harry's friend.

"So he said but I think the investigation fizzled. I don't really know. As I said, he didn't really want to talk about it."

"Hullaballoo Marketing, right?" asked Dempsey, recalling the name coming up on Saturday night.

It was a lead worth following up; wherever there was money there was the potential for ill-will, sure as night follows day.

Campbell nodded.

"You obviously know his wife."

"Selena? Yes, of course."

"And how did that marriage go?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, in your opinion, had it been on the rocks a while before they split or was it a good marriage up until that point?"

"Before Jonnie's brother stuck his oar in, so to speak?" Campbell offered a sardonic smile. "It'd been fine. I know it takes two to tango and all that but I can't help thinking it was all some sort of sick game to Robert. Have you met him?"

Dempsey felt himself tense. "I haven't had that pleasure."

"Fabulous guy – on the surface but stuff going on underneath. Never liked him I'm afraid; always struck me as being quite manipulative – hidden agenda. You're with his ex-wife so she must've told you what he's like."

"I'm building a picture," Dempsey told him, trying to keep the sarcasm to a level.

"Anyway, I can't see Selina having anything to do with it. She wouldn't have had a clue where Jonnie was and I can't see much of a connection with Harry when, to my knowledge, she never met her more than a couple of times."

Dempsey spent another quarter of an hour or so at the Wimbledon address, gleaning what extra information he could; visitors to the house, telephone conversations Campbell had been privy to and trying to ascertain what contact Jonnie had made with potential employers, old work associates and friends and relatives whilst he had been staying with Mike Campbell.

Unfortunately, it seemed Scotland Yard had already got their hands on all significant correspondence which Jonnie kept in an A4 plastic ring binder.

And had Dempsey known that 'Roseby and Fontaine' was simply a private joke of Ray Rhodes' making, lifting the name from the rose bushes and the Huntress Fountain of his meeting with Robert Makepeace in Hyde Park, the air of that nice neighbourhood would have turned blue.

* * *

-"What gives?" he asked Chas via the R.T. once he got back to the car.

"Nothing yet. The guv'nor rang in an hour ago to get me to cancel a meeting he's got this afternoon. He said Harry's been interviewed with her solicitor but they want her back in again later."

"What the hell for?" Dempsey exploded. "Jesus, does nobody at that cop shop museum recognise a set-up when they see one?"

"Where are you, Dempsey?" Chas asked, pretty certain he was somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Need some info, Chas." He leaned across to the glove box and fished about for a pack of gum. "You gonna help me out here?"

"Dempsey…" Chas said in warning fashion. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't or won't? Come on Chas, we're a team, right? Makepeace needs us."

"Look… Jim… Spikings is pulling you. He told me to bring you in next time you made contact."

"Hullaballoo Marketing. Now defunct. I need the names and addresses of former employees."

"He said you're on unofficial leave until further notice," Chas continued.

"Also, whatever you can find on why the company went into liquidation, who the creditors were, that kinda thing. Recent history; the last twelve months so it'll be a piece o' cake."

"He wants your badge and he told me to tell you that the pop-gun will be going back in the toy box for the foreseeable."

Jarvis found his head was hurting from hitting it against the brick wall that was Dempsey.

"Oh and see if you can find a company registered some place with the name Roseby and Fontaine, would ya?"

It was hard to say no to Dempsey. He was an expert railroader; part of what made him so good at his job but when this technique was applied to colleagues, it could be annoyingly tiresome. Makepeace didn't stand for it, giving him short shrift whilst young Fry was a complete pushover and just did as he was told. The others, well, they generally complied with his requests although not without complaint and as it wasn't a regular thing they could live with the occasional above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty demand.

"We've had specific instructions to stay out of it, Dempsey."

Dempsey didn't want to hear it, mostly because Chas was right but what if something got missed? What if more than indented handwriting got overlooked? Dempsey didn't find it easy to hand work over. Delegating was fine when you stayed involved and had control of a situation but the idea of entrusting an unknown quantity with Harry's predicament just didn't sit well.

"Chas, I'm askin' ya nice, pal. Please do this. I'm scared this situation might escalate if we don't keep on top of it, ya know?"

That made Chas sit up and take notice. The words 'I'm scared', in any sort of context just didn't belong in the vocabulary of this tough New Yorker. He'd assumed that The Yard would've put the case to bed by now; discovered their error and got a stranglehold on the real perpetrator but worryingly, that hadn't happened. Maybe Harry really did need a bit of extra help.

"It's tricky, Dempsey. Every keystroke on every search performed is stored and saved on the back-up disks. It'll all be there under my log-in."

Dempsey immediately reeled off his sign-in and password details. "It'll all be on me, Chas. You won't be implicated."

Chas sighed. "I'm not bothered about that. I just don't want it to impact on Harry."

"Jesus, Chas! Come on! They're gettin' their wild imaginations all fired up over Harry's take while some maniac broad is still runnin' around with an axe to grind. Until we got a motive for that attempted murder, we gotta assume that Jonathan Makepeace is still at risk and probably Harry too."

Chas was on the verge of pointing out that Harry was in the safest place she could be at the moment but thought better of it.

"Okay. I'll do it but for God's sake, show willing and bring your bloody gun in. okay?"

Dempsey beamed. "It's definitely on my 'to do' list."

* * *

 **Did you manage to read to the end or have you skipped to this bit? Wouldn't blame you if you have *yawn*.**

 **But I promise the next chapter will be far more interesting.**


	30. No Promises

**A bit late to be posting but struggling for time at the minute so it's now or never. There are probably another four or five chapters to go so Dempsey needs to pull his finger out and track down those involved in Jonnie's attempted murder.**

 **A smidge of Demparry for you tonight because it's well overdue ;-)**

 **(Lynney... nah, you're just dreaming. LOL)**

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

Having tried Dempsey's number a couple of times and on both occasions, failing to get a response, Harry sat down in her kitchen with a cup of tea.

She was utterly exhausted.

An entire day of what had amounted to interrogation had taken its' toll but she knew the winding down process had yet to begin. Her brain was still spinning and it would be a while yet before she was capable of relaxing, if that even happened at all tonight.

She wasn't out of the frame yet; she was still a suspect and if it wasn't for Spikings she was convinced she would have been spending the night in a cell. And tomorrow she was required to spend another day answering their questions.

Carefully, she brought the steaming cup to her lips and blew gently, eyes closed.

It was a nightmare. Not only was Jonnie lying in a hospital bed, hovering somewhere between life and death, they were trying to come up with a motive for her putting him there!

They'd been digging into her past and asking all sorts of questions about her life during the period she was married to Robert. She wasn't good at talking about her personal life, particularly with strangers and under these circumstances, it made her feel physically sick.

Arnby and Pelliere, to their credit, had afforded her the level of respect one might expect a fellow police officer to receive but never-the-less, it had been an inordinately uncomfortable experience. It would certainly influence the way she herself conducted the interview process of suspects in the future – those with a clean sheet anyway. Always supposing she wasn't actually found guilty…

And there was no point trying to sweep it under the carpet; there was a genuine possibility that that could happen.

Her thoughts were with poor Jonathan too. She hadn't been told much but it sounded as though he was in a bad way and of course, there was no chance of her being allowed to visit him in hospital when she was under suspicion of having put him there.

Again, a tidal wave of panic flooded over her. What if she'd lost everything? What if whoever had taken her car last night had set out to destroy her and what if she couldn't prevent that from happening?

When the doorbell sounded, Harry rose sharply, rocketing up from the chair with an irrational and inexplicable fear screaming through every fibre of her being.

It was only a momentary thing as the illogicality of her reaction followed swiftly in its wake. She wasn't in any danger – was she?

 _It's Dempsey_ , her mind informed her calmly and then not quite so calmly, _It's James! James is here!_

She realised then how much his presence affected her; he restored her equilibrium and in an odd way brought a sense of normalcy to every situation.

"The boss-man said he'd dropped you at home. Thought I'd stop by and check you were okay."

His casual air was a front. What he really wanted was to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would all be okay only he knew Harry didn't cope well with the tea and sympathy gig.

"Well, I'm here which is a bonus. At one point, I thought I'd be spending the night in a six by four."

"Hey, those 7:00am full English breakfasts make incarceration a pleasure I heard."

Harry took a step back. "Are you coming in?"

He followed her inside, trying to gauge her mood, wondering if she needed him or not.

"Coffee?" she asked. "The kettle's just boiled."

"Thought you'd be on something stronger… sun's over the yard arm."

She was getting him a mug down from the cupboard, not waiting for his answer.

"I really don't think I could stomach it at the moment."

"I'll take tea."

His choice surprised her but she didn't comment. He was probably just being nice, thinking that it was easier to pour a cup of tea from the teapot on the table than make fresh coffee.

"I did try to ring you but I just got your answering machine. You were obviously on your way."

"Not been home yet."

Dempsey took up the cup she'd put in front of him.

"Oh?" She watched him drink down most of the hot tea. "Dare I ask what you've been up to?"

"Just some stuff. How you doin'? Been a long day for you, huh?"

"It's certainly been eventful. And another day of it tomorrow but I suppose I can't complain really because at least I'm home tonight."

Dempsey gave her a sardonic smile and looked down at the cup he held between both hands. "Can't complain? You're a hoot, Makepeace."

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"That stiff upper lip ain't ready to quit yet?"

"There might have been a quiver or two today," Harry admitted, "but that was mostly due to the frustration of it all."

"Those boys'll be wipin' egg off of their faces for the next six months when forensics do their thing."

"I am rather hoping they'll work their magic and clear everything up. There has to be some evidence of this woman, whoever she is."

"Did they tell you anything?" Dempsey asked. "I mean, like anything at all? They gotta have some idea of what's really goin' on."

"Well if they have, they certainly didn't want to discuss it with me or Roger."

"The solicitor guy?"

Harry began to run through an account of her day, answering Dempsey's questions, giving him the detail to try to make sense of the situation.

She'd thought that going over it again would have been the last thing she wanted but to relay it all to somebody who was on her side, to hear that person come up with reasons for her innocence rather than reasons for her guilt was a comfort.

He didn't push too hard she noted. He took it steady, keeping it light, adding a touch of humour where he could. But Harry could tell there was something he was holding back from her and guessed it was connected to whatever he'd been doing whilst she had been at Scotland Yard.

"So, Dempsey, how was your day? I think I probably need to know."

"Ya know… moochin' around."

"Where?"

"Maybe better I don't say, that way you don't gotta worry…"

"I'm already worried, Dempsey," Harry cut in. "Who have you been harassing in your unofficial capacity?"

He told her about his visit to Mike Campbell and the fact that Arnby and Pelliere had already taken away the binder containing information on Jonathan's job searching. The indented address on the notepad had proved to be non-existent according to Chas, there being no such company as Roseby and Fontaine either at that address or anywhere else, in face, the street itself turned out to be completely residential.

"So, we can assume that this man set up the fake interview simply to lure him out into the open at a time in the morning when witnesses would be few and far between and the woman would have a clear run at him so to speak."

"And anybody who got a look at her would make assumptions seein' a distinctive blonde 'do' so either a wig or she got herself an appointment at the beauty salon."

Harry sat back with an agitated sigh. "Arnby and Pelliere were more than happy to put something that obvious on the back burner. They seemed to be working heavily on the principal that if they kept chipping away at the main suspect, eventually I'd crack."

Dempsey made a face. "They don't know you."

"But I know you," she responded, "and I know you didn't while away the rest of the day keeping your nose clean."

"I kept a low profile," he assured her.

"Doing what?"

Dempsey shuffled in his seat uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"If you've found something, I want to know, Dempsey, after all, it isn't me who could lose their job over flouting authority, I have a far more grandiose reason."

"I'm makin' some headway." He sat back, rubbing distractedly at the back of his neck. "Probably better if I don't discuss it with you, ya know."

"Probably better for your health if you do," Harry told him pleasantly.

"Okay, okay." He flopped forward, forearms on the table so that he was face to face with Harry. "So, Chas got me the names and addresses of the two people Jonathan had working for him when Hullabaloo Marketing was still a going concern…"

"You got Chas involved!?" Harry exploded.

"It's okay, Tiger, he didn't speak to anyone, he used my password and logged onto a different computer, it's cool."

"I don't care, you shouldn't have involved him."

"I know and you're right but it's hard to take a back seat when I got an angle, ya know."

"So go on," Harry pushed, despite herself "what did you find out?"

"Jonathan had two people working for him; Pam Forest, in her fifties, working part time as the secretary. And then we have David Miller, fresh outa university and a real eager beaver. Seems he's the keen to learn type, soakin' it all up, takin' it all in. So he tells me he thinks he can pinpoint exactly when this bum deal went down, even though Jonathan told him nothin' about it."

"Go on," Harry prompted, sipping her tea.

"Guy visits the office one day like six, seven months ago, obviously loaded, friendly as all get out. Takes Jonathan outside to view the uber-cool Lamborghini parked up at the roadside an' then after a half hour locked away in Jonathan's office, they go out on a long lunch break together. Kid remembers it crystal clear. Says he heard the guy tell him it was another sweet deal and he wanted him to get in on it."

"Interesting," said Harry. "Have you got a name?"

"Yeah… that's the thing." Dempsey's half smile told Harry it definitely _was_ interesting although it turned out to be more than she'd bargained for.

"I didn't need to get a name. It was his brother. Sounds like your ex served him up a shit load of spiel an' screwed him over, Harry."

It took a moment to properly sink in and when it did, Harry felt quite sick.

"Robert wouldn't have done something like that knowingly," she balked, "not to Jonnie!"

"What, you're defending him now? From what I've heard of Robert Makepeace, he's capable of just about anything."

Harry raked her fingers through her blonde hair, sitting with her head bent forward in her hands for a moment, staring at the table. "No. Just because he gave him a bad tip-off doesn't mean he intentionally sold Jonnie down the river."

"That's true. It doesn't," Dempsey replied evenly. "But it needs looking into, right?"

When she didn't respond, he inclined his head a little, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Right?"

"I suppose so… yes, of course. But let Arnby deal with it as part of the investigation. Promise me you're not going to go asking Robert questions."

Now it was Dempsey who didn't want to make eye contact.

"Promise me, Dempsey?" she asked beseechingly.

"Why? You afraid the conversation might get heated?"

Of course she was. She knew it wouldn't take much to light the blue touch paper and if Robert put two and two together and realised that Dempsey was off the case due to his involvement, he'd make sure they hung him out to dry. Dempsey had no notion of Robert's capabilities.

"I'd rather not have any dealings with him if I can possibly help it and I think your getting involved would antagonise him."

She could see he wasn't happy but at least that meant he was resigned to complying with her wishes. For good measure, she reached her hand across the table, massaging his hand lightly with her fingertips.

"Promise me, James."

His lazy smile sent a warm throb through Harry's heart.

"Don't gimme those eyes," he warned affectionately.

"I don't know what you mean." Her smile matched his as she stood with the slight tug of his hand to round the side of the table and drop into his lap.

His arms enveloped her, tightening about her body as she settled into him and Dempsey nestled his cheek against the top of her head.

"Those eyes worry the hell outa me," he chuckled.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, for the first time since the early morning feeling quite calm if not totally relaxed yet.

"They got this ability to take away my free will."

"Good," Harry said lightly. "It means we don't have to argue then."

"Who's arguing?"

"Well, you still haven't promised me you'll leave my ex-husband alone," she pointed out.

"You make it sound like you're expectin' me to hunt him down an' beat the crap outa him!"

"But I know you wouldn't do that," said Harry with a wilting sarcasm, "because it wouldn't do either of us any favours now would it?"

"Would give me one helluva lot of satisfaction though."

"Believe me, he isn't worth grazing your knuckles on."

Her hand came up to join his at her waist, the pads of her fingertips stroking his knuckles.

"That's why baseball bats were invented," he grinned.

"Don't even jest! You're already in hot water if they find out you've been obtaining information through SI-10 after you've been relieved of duty. And I know for a fact Robert wouldn't think twice about reporting you."

"So you're just gonna hope that the gang at The Yard find it out all by themselves tomorrow, huh?"

"I can drop it into the conversation, I'm sure," she sighed.

Dempsey wasn't convinced though. "What, 'Oh, I just found out my ex was the one who scuppered Jonathan's business earlier this year but don't ask how I came by that information'?"

"I don't need to be quite that blunt, do I?"

"Don't see it would do any harm if I was to nose around a little."

"No."

There was something in her quiet tone that made him realise how serious she was and he fell silent, an ugly little worm crawling inside his ear asking if there was something he was missing, something she wasn't telling him.

"I don't give a damn about him. If he was involved in some scam or other, I hope he gets put away for it – not that that would ever happen; he's too clever to let himself be caught out." Her fingers curled around his other hand that clasped her knee. "But I won't have him drag you down with him… because that's what would happen, James, believe me."

"Okay, I hear ya," he said softly. He picked up on the undercurrent of love that flowed beneath the vehemence and felt the kind of reciprocal glow that had always been such a rare occurrence in his adult life. It was such a beautiful feeling, this brand of euphoria and yet it scared him like nothing else could.

As he kissed her head tenderly, she lifted her face to him, her eyes slightly swimmy, her full lips devoid of their usual wash of colour, parted, giving her the appealing look of an innocent.

"Whatever you want, baby," he told her.

Those soft blue eyes searched his speculatively but then she looked away and nestled her head against his collar bone.

"I just want you."

That choked him up.

"You got me," he said simply.

Like a perfect flower, her words blossomed in his mind, the petals folding back and opening up to display a breath-taking world, complex layers that made up an unflawed existence. Was Dempsey fit to pluck such a matchless specimen? Would he crush it, see it wither and fade in his hand? How deserving was he, how capable of preserving that fanciful life that appeared to be his for the taking?

He knew how tired she was. He could see the fragility in her eyes. He'd had a bad day himself. Not just the hard slog of it but the mental rigor.

So when she slowly pulled herself away to rise from his lap, Dempsey fully expected her to return to her own chair. But instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find her quickly shimmying out of her tight-fitting pencil skirt and turning back around to sit astride him.

Before he could even express his approval, Harry had leaned forward and taken possession of his mouth, effectively ending any further conversation.

At the moment of letting go, she cried out his name; literally cried, a faltering, heart-wrenching wail, like her life was ending. But her eyes blazed and she held onto him, dragging him with her so that for a split second, they fused in a silvered shiver of purity.

For a few minutes, Harry remained where she was, her head against his neck, clinging on whilst her panting reduced down to deep, contented breaths.

Eventually, Dempsey sat her up and teased away the few strands of flaxen hair that clung to her face.

"Better?" he asked.

He wasn't fool enough to believe that had all been about him.

She nodded, a glimmer of shyness in her smile despite her unreserved behaviour.

 _No promises, Harry. I ain't gonna lose you now._


	31. Flower Power

**Chapter 31**

The upside was that Robert knew where he was going this time – the downside, he knew what he might expect to encounter along the way plus he couldn't begin to imagine what Rhodes' reaction would be to the news that Jonathan was still alive.

At this stage he would gladly walk away from it all and just accept that he was eight grand down with one brother too many. But Rhodes was unlikely to know of his failure and would come looking for him if he didn't show up to make the second payment.

He felt caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, he wasn't party to a murder but on the other, he was still party to an attempted murder and subject to the great weight of legal penalty that implied. There was still a possibility that Jonathan wouldn't make it out of intensive care of course but until his brother went one way or the other, he to was stuck in this limbo.

The smell of the roses crept up on him and his stomach did a slow revolution. Like one of Pavlov's hounds, his mind associated the scent with the fear and disquiet of his first meeting with Rhodes.

The silhouette of a bulky male figure began drifting towards him and so he picked up his pace, making it clear he had a destination and wasn't one of _those_ men who was looking to feed his appetite with a stranger.

The Huntress Fountain was in sight now and he hurried towards it, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head down low.

That Rhodes was making him wait deliberately he had no doubt. He must have been laughing to himself, watching Robert checking his watch with such agitation every thirty seconds or so.

But at two minutes after eleven, Rhodes appeared at his side, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Evening," he said cordially into his ear, making Robert flinch. "Looks like those cold feet of yours have been given the chance to warm up a bit, doesn't it?"

It didn't register immediately but when Robert cottoned onto the fact that Rhodes already knew Jonathan was still alive, it galled him somewhat. He'd hoped to have ruffled his feathers a bit, given himself an advantage by revealing the news of his failure. But instead, Rhodes was twisting it to make out he'd done him a favour almost, given him the opportunity to back out of this predicament.

"So what happens now?" asked Robert, forcing a stern confidence into the response.

"Well now, that's up to you isn't it…" A characteristic sniff and Rhodes left it there, goading him.

"What are my options?" He stole a look at him in the murky darkness and found a slyly smiling effigy of the devil himself, deep shadows creating the illusion of grey flesh hanging from hollowed cheeks, sharp black eyes mocking him mercilessly.

If you want the job finishing then I'll finish it as soon as you want but if you don't then I take my final payment tonight and we'll call it a day. Either way, a fee was agreed."

The cost of the whole thing was irrelevant at this stage which was ironic really, given that he had done it all for the money.

When he'd found out four years ago that his father had changed his will, the white-hot anger had broiled and bubbled for many months until it had rendered down into a plan to eliminate the now sole beneficiary, namely Jonathan. Always the favourite with both parents, the good son, the one who always did the right thing, the selfless one, the bloody martyr.

Patrick Makepeace had made no secret of the fact that he was pulling the plug on his inheritance – an extremely substantial amount of something in the region of five million all told. His personal wealth alone, amassed through years of hard work as a top surgeon in his field was more than the average man could hope to achieve in half a dozen lifetimes. Numerous assets included a portfolio of properties; several within the U.K and a large estate in the South of France which had been a holiday destination for many years when Robert and Jonathan were children.

With stock market investments and an assortment of business interests, one of which was a major player within the pharmaceutical industry, his father was a very wealthy man. But Robert was to see none of this; the simple reason being that effectively, his father didn't like his attitude.

He'd told him he was lacking in humanity, that this deficiency when combined with the kind of wealth he stood to inherit, had the potential for disaster. And of course, the fact that he had found out about the reasons for the breakdown of his marriage. The old goat had actually had the temerity to nosey around in his private affairs, gone to the extreme of hiring someone even. He'd even discovered how his wife had killed his unborn child and yet blamed him for punishing her. He'd never raised a hand to her before but on this occasion, she'd deserved it. And he'd have carried on punishing her until she'd understood and admitted she was a murdering bitch if she hadn't done a disappearing act.

The kid would be three now. He'd have quite liked a son.

There had been talk of redemption. If he could mend his ways so to speak then his father might reconsider.

That had only served to incense Robert further.

What did he want from him, for him to become some kind of saint, building orphanages in Africa, rallying for world peace and saving the planet? Did he want him to give over his weekends to rehabilitating wayward hedgehogs? Welcome drug addicts and stinking tramps into his home to watch the match with a few cans of Special Brew?

And that was what had given him the idea. What if Jonnie were to lose his crown?

He hadn't really taken that long to topple. Getting him to plough the company assets into the bogus mutual fund scheme had been the trickiest part because Jonnie liked to play it safe but with the help of one rather unscrupulous acquaintance, he had bought into it. Timing had been paramount so he'd made a play for his wife, Sabrina right before the deal had been finalised. By the time it had become apparent that the investment had turned sour, Robert was bedding her on a regular basis.

Double whammy!

He had carefully engineered the discovery of Sabrina's infidelity. Less than forty-eight hours after the first bombshell he had made sure they had been caught flagrante delicto. Timing. The sordidly degrading act Jonathan had witnessed created an image that would remain seared upon his retinas for a lifetime. Sabrina had proved just as malleable and weak as her husband and it had been hard not to laugh out loud at the horrified expression on his pathetic face.

He had been pretty confident that he wouldn't go to their father for the cash to bail him out; not only was he too proud but he'd seen Robert do it too many times in their youth and didn't want to incur that bitter disappointment which would be magnified a hundred-fold by his skewed halo.

He knew Jonathan. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. As a teenager he had been prone to terrible anxiety if things got on top of him. He'd bottle things up until he was ready to explode before he would ask for help simply because he didn't want to burden others. His was the sort of character that didn't allow for self-pity and recrimination therefore there was no outlet for the emotions he wasn't happy about feeling.

A few other misfortunes had befallen him over the weeks of course. The slow drip, drip, drip of bad karma had eaten away at him. The smashed headlight, the mugging, numerous other little things that had eventually all become too much and as Robert had hoped, his brother had imploded, taking to the streets after the landlord of the rented flat he had moved to had suddenly and inexplicably declared that an infestation of termites had rendered the property uninhabitable.

Ad then it seemed that fate had intervened and Harriet had come across him, plucking him from the gutter as it were. Even having him roughed up a bit hadn't had the desired effect, instead of fleeing London, he'd sought her out and it was at that point that Robert had become desperate enough to hire Rhodes…

"It's make your mind up time."

The voice of the hired killer, so deceptively quiet and gentle in his ear startled him from his reverie.

He couldn't risk losing that five million now.

The eyes of The Huntress were ever watchful, fixed on her prey, determined and strong.

"Do it," he instructed with calm clarity.

* * *

He hadn't stayed.

Spikings was calling for her this morning, bright and early and Dempsey being around might have looked like they were rubbing his nose in it. Plus, they'd both been in desperate need of a good nights' sleep, something which might have been stymied by sharing a bed despite the impromptu chair activities early in the evening. So they'd finished their tea and called it a day.

She'd hurt him – physically, she remembered, gripping his shoulders and rocking all of her weight against him whilst in the throes and the fact was that in a perverse sort of way she was glad that it had caused him pain. He didn't want to talk about it but maybe this was a way of forcing his hand. It was bothering her more and more. She didn't know to what extent the pills had become a problem but she was ninety-nine percent sure he had developed some kind of addiction to them. She didn't even know what type of pills he was taking. Initially it had been Codeine, little white tablets but recently she'd spotted a flash of pink, sometimes blue as he surreptitiously fed the things into his mouth.

Harry couldn't bear to think of him beholden to something as insidious as this prescription medication. He was such a strong personality, a true force of nature… how could he let himself be ruled by chemicals… by drugs?

But Harry kept pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind. She couldn't deal with Dempsey's problems as well as her own, it was simply too much. And it was so easy to brush under the carpet, wasn't it, when on the surface everything appeared to be normal.

Once she'd been cleared of this preposterous accusation of attempted murder, then she would confront him and find out exactly how serious a hold on him this thing had.

"You ready, girl?" asked Spikings in frighteningly cheery fashion. But actually, he came over as being quite fatherly and Harry was touched.

"As I'll ever be, Sir."

"That's the spirit."

Opening the passenger side door of his pale blue Ford Granada for her, Spikings received a coolly amused nod in conjunction with the formal, "Thank you, Sir."

She wondered if he'd deliberated over the action. Spikings was old-school and opening a door for a lady would come naturally. But he was also her boss and as a rule, treated her in the same way he did his male subordinates. She supposed she should accept the blip with a good grace though – extenuating circumstances and all that.

"Manage to get some shut-eye last night?" he asked. "Might have another long day ahead of you I'm afraid."

Harry buckled up. "I got a few hours which was more than I'd expected to be honest."

"Good girl. Excellent. Always pays to recharge the batteries if you can." He fell silent as he pulled out into the road and seemed to hunker down inside his light brown car coat, hands high on the steering wheel.

"It was very good of you to pick me up, Sir. I appreciate it."

"Yes, well, you're in my custody. It looks better if I deliver you to the door so to speak." A little tweak of the moustache. "I expect that Yank of yours would have volunteered his services anyway."

"He did," Harry confirmed.

"See him, did you?"

"He popped in for a cup of tea not long after you'd dropped me off."

Harry realised what was coming.

"Just remind him next time he 'pops in' that I'm in receipt of neither his badge nor that bloody cannon he insists on toting around everywhere."

"Sir," she acknowledged.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him frowning fiercely.

"To be quite honest with you, Harry, it concerns me greatly that Dempsey is running around with that paraphernalia. He's liable to do something stupid – even more stupid than usual when there is personal involvement."

"I'll have words."

Although she'd warned him off last night, she hadn't actually insisted he hand his badge and his gun in, had she? Was that because she wanted him fighting for her, needed to know he was out there chasing down the truth?

After a rather pregnant pause, Spikings asked, "Has anything come to light? Anything significant? I imagine he's been digging around somewhat rigorously."

An instant denial was on the tip of her tongue but then she realised this could be the perfect opportunity to convey the information Dempsey had uncovered concerning Robert's connection to Jonathan's business failing so dramatically. Maybe Spikings would be able to whisper in the right ear.

"There was something…"

Spikings glanced at her, a self-satisfied half smile lighting his eyes. "Yeeeeees, I thought there might be."

* * *

Robert Makepeace would be receiving a visit at his place of work pretty soon decided Dempsey.

He'd be cool.

Harry wanted him to be a good boy so he'd maintain a professionalism what would keep her happy but no doubt stress him' out to the max.

Had to be done. If he was going to nail someone for this, he had to play smart. Would there be anyone in Harry's social circle, he wondered, who might know who her ex was currently dating? Some malleable, sweet thang with a sexy, mussed up blonde do, maybe? He could ask around, anyhow.

But first, a trip to the Met Lab in Lambeth where he was hoping the scarily authoritative yet handsomely attractive older lady known as Mrs Sherwood would be prepared to help him out.

He didn't use the main entrance, instead walking along the back of the building and taking the fire escape steps.

His reasons for taking this circuitous route were two-fold. For one thing, he didn't want to be seen but also, he hoped his covert behaviour might amuse the lady he was anxious to see.

Armed with an unimpressive looking bunch of Michaelmas Daisies and a cheeky grin, he levered himself up onto the handrail at the top of the fire escape and in an awkward sitting position, managed to peer through the bottom of the high windows.

Peggy Sherwood sat in her white lab coat with her back to him, oblivious until the gentle rapping reached her ears.

Startled, she turned away from the microscope and looked up to find him steadily waving the flowers in greeting.

She frowned at the intrusion but got up to wrestle with the panic bar on the fire exit door all the same.

"Yo, Mrs S!" he beamed, jumping down from the rail.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she asked crossly. "This is an emergency exit, Lieutenant Dempsey, for 'emergency' use only."

"Like when you need that emergency cigarette?"

It had been an educated guess but the lack of a denial and the rolling eyes told him he was on the money.

"Is there some particular reason for your using the 'tradesman's entrance' other than to deliver what I can only assume to be evidence of some kind."

She looked down her nose at the small bunch of daisies.

"Just a token of my affection, Mrs S."

"Well in that case…" she took them from his hand with what was almost an enticing smile, "you'd better come in."

He'd guessed her to be fifteen years his senior but that didn't stop her being extremely easy on the eye. Her brown hair was cut into soft layers that were fashionably flicked back and her grey eyes radiated a pleasant warmth when she wanted them to. Dempsey had only met her a handful of times but each time she had worn a skirt and heels beneath that pristine white coat and he had found himself speculating as to whether her preference was for panty hose or nylons.

He'd debated over asking her out on a date but Makepeace had been with him on each occasion and it would have been awkward getting her to wait in the car. Last time he saw her he had been on his own only by that point he'd started to become hung up on his annoying partner and so he'd let the opportunity to make a move on Mrs Sherwood slide.

As he followed her inside, he regarded her trim figure appraisingly. Yep, there was definitely something about an older woman.

"So how's it goin'?" he asked, his head tilting slightly to watch her bend down and retrieve a glass conical flask from a cupboard.

"Busy. I've been here since 7:00am. I've got a particular job that's being pushed through – one of those 'pull out all the stops' ones." She crossed to a large stainless-steel sink and filled the flask with cold water before returning to unceremoniously drop the flowers into it. "So, I can't spare you very long I'm afraid."

She leaned back with her hands on the counter top, arms splayed and legs crossed at the ankles. "Is there something I can do for you?"

 _Steady now, Mrs Robinson!_

The invitation was right there on a plate and it was some serious temptation. She probably figured this second solo visit was him going in for the kill.

"You might already be doin' it…"

 _Shit! That sounded like a line,_ Dempsey realised when her mouth hitched up at one corner. He tried again.

"That 'pull out all the stops' thing… that wouldn't involve a white Ford Escort 1.6i Cabriolet would it?"

The arms folded against her chest. "It might very well. I didn't get this one via SI-10 though. What's your involvement?"

"Vehicle belongs to a cop."

She winced. "I see. That explains the urgency then. A hit and run wouldn't normally require me to put everything else on the back burner like this has. One of your department presumably?"

"You got it. Was kinda wonderin'…"

"This wouldn't be Sergeant Makepeace we're talking about, would it?" Mrs Sherwood cut in, sounding a bit shocked by her own deduction. After all, knowing Makepeace was the only female in SI-10, how likely was it that the sporty little white number would belong to one of the male officers?

"She's in real need of a break right now. Figured you'd of been given this one aaaaand…"

"And you think you can by-pass all the appropriate channels to get the forensic results first," she finished for him. "Straight from the horse's mouth, as it were?"

"A heads up, maybe."

"I can't do that, Lieutenant Dempsey and you know it."

Dempsey ran his hand through his dark brown hair. "Okay, yeah. I got it. But we really, really could use some help with this, ya know? When d'you expect to be through? What time do they want the report?"

"It isn't a case of what they want, it's a case of when I'm good and ready," she said matter of factly. "I don't rush my analysis for anyone, that's when things get overlooked and mistakes made and that might lead to an injustice being served. So in answer to your question, I honestly couldn't say what time my report will be complete."

Dempsey was exasperated. "They're sayin' she tried to kill her ex-brother-in-law… the guy's on the critical list… like Harry could do somethin' like that…"

"My 'incomplete' report is on that desk over there," she talked over him, "but obviously I can't let you see that and I think you should probably go. I'm going to get myself a coffee. I'd appreciate it if you shut that door firmly behind you on your way out, Lieutenant, I can't have just anybody wandering in here."

He broke into a wide grin. "You're a doll! I owe you big time."

"Yes, you do," Mrs Sherwood agreed as she turned away to leave him to it.

When he'd first arrived, she had fully expected to be writing a dinner date into her diary but as the reason for his visit had been brought to light, she had got the distinct impression that the lovely Sergeant Makepeace had taken on a far greater significance in his life since they had last met.

Was it, she wondered, this current event that had opened his eyes to her charms or had it been a more gradual recognition? But more likely, Sergeant Makepeace had decided to finally succumb to his advances. She couldn't imagine a man like James Dempsey hadn't 'had a crack at her' a few times over the time they'd been partnered together.

They made a handsome couple, there was no denying. A bit of a shame though; she could definitely have had some fun with him.

* * *

The drive to Harrington Manor gave Dempsey plenty of time to run through in his mind what he'd just read in Mrs Sherwood's notes.

And boy was there some food for thought within that incomplete report.


	32. All That Sentimental Syrup

**It's another Demparryless chapter I'm afraid :-(**

 **Looking at it positively though, when they eventually get together again, it'll make their reunion all the sweeter... hopefully... maybe... you'd like to think... ;-/**

 **Duann! All those catch-up reviews. You little star. Thank you so much XXX (Sorry, I know you wish that meant this chapter was triple X rated :-D )**

* * *

Chapter 32

A single blonde hair had been found down the left-hand side of the driver's seat which was inconsistent with the others proven to belong to Makepeace. The hair was bleached light blonde but it was noted that a high volume peroxide had been used due to the fact that it was treating coarse Asian hair, namely, from a person of South Asian origin. Mrs Sherwood had speculated that this _could_ imply it had come from a wig, with the vast majority of wigs manufactured from human hair coming from Asian countries.

Dempsey was confident that if the woman driving Harry's car had had brown skin along with that light blonde hair, those witnesses at the scene wouldn't have overlooked the fact.

The other stand-out finding that had been highlighted in the report had been made by one of Mrs Sherwood's colleagues working on the case.

Apparently, the driver's seat had been moved out of its regular position. The steel floor runners on which the seat could be adjusted showed a clearly ground impression made where the seat was typically stationed. When the forensics team got hold of the car, the seat was pushed almost six inches further back.

In Dempsey's experience, you didn't come across too many Indian broads around the 5'10" to 6' mark with bleach blonde bobbed do's and if you did, you would be sure to remember her. But was it possible the driver had been a slim white guy wearing a wig? Because odds on it was a man who'd been behind the wheel and he saw that now. He thought back to the photograph he'd seen, the one Harry had shown him of Jonathan and his brother. Couldn't Robert Makepeace fit the bill? It was a leap but…

There was something their father had said when he and Harry had visited him at Harrington Manor just a couple of days ago, something which at the time hadn't even registered but must've been significant enough for him to squirrel away into his subconscious.

' _Money seems to be the only commodity my son takes notice of' …_ or something like that

So Robert Makepeace was a money-grabbing bastard just to add to his list of human failings but so what? Didn't mean he'd commit murder.

Dempsey flipped the lid on the container of pills with one hand as he drove and shook a couple into his mouth. He could see all the dots, he was sure, only he couldn't join them together.

Frowning, he lit himself a cigar and cranked down the side window, hoping that the aromatic smell and sense of well-being it evoked might stimulate the thought process.

But instead, he found himself thinking of Harry. She'd admitted to him a couple of years back that she enjoyed the smell of a good cigar, could even recognise one or two of the various tobaccos. Funny but he enjoyed it a lot more now himself, knowing he wasn't causing offence by contaminating her air.

She'd got to him. In every part of his life now, Harry had an effect. And he needed her back so bad it was a crime in itself.

* * *

As luck would have it, the same receptionist was on duty only this time, minus Violet, the resident who had been assisting previously.

"Now I remember your face but I'm afraid I don't remember your name," said Hilary as she opened up the Harrington Manor visitors book and pushed it across the desk to Dempsey to sign in.

Putting down the expensive box of biscuits he'd purchased for the occasion, he wrote an indecipherable scrawl and added the date in the next column, not bothering with the car registration.

"You were here with Mr Makepeace's daughter-in-law last time, weren't you?"

"Yes, I knew I was going to be in this neck of the woods today so she asked if I'd stop by," he said pleasantly. "Is it okay? I guess I should of made an appointment."

"It should be fine," she assured him. "I saw Mr Makepeace a little while ago when he came out of breakfast and he seemed in good spirits. If you just want to take a seat, I'll find out where he is." She leaned towards him conspiratorially. "Errm, you know what happened to his other son, Jonathan, I take it?"

"I heard."

"I hope you weren't planning on telling him, were you? I mean, the police were in touch with us this morning and you probably know that we contacted Robert at that point. It was decided it would be better all round to say nothing. Mr Makepeace just wouldn't cope with something like that and it seems that there's still a chance poor Jonathan might pull through so…"

"No. No, I completely understand the situation. I'm not here for that. That's the last thing he needs, right?"

After a short wait, Dempsey was shown through to what the attendant referred to as the Day Room. Patrick Makepeace was there, holding a copy of the Financial Times but not attempting to read it.

"Good morning!" Dempsey greeted brightly and the old man looked up questioningly.

"It's your daughter-in-law's friend… Mr Dempsey. You said you were okay to see him."

The young man, dressed quite smartly in trousers, a v-neck jumper and shirt wore a name badge bearing the Harrington Manor insignia along with the name, Richard.

"Ah, no, you're mistaken there I'm afraid."

 _Shit! He didn't remember him. How was he supposed to play this now?_

"Harriet isn't my daughter-in-law. Not any longer. She and my son were recently divorced, you see. Mr Dempsey here is her solicitor."

He looked pleased with himself, glad to be able to set the record straight.

"Oh, okay," said Richard cheerfully, not particularly taking in the information. He'd been at this job for four years now and had learnt to take most things with a pinch of salt when it came from a resident.

"Now Mr Dempsey, how about a cup of tea on the veranda?" asked his host graciously, "and you can give me 'the low down' as you Americans say."

"Sound good to me," Dempsey smiled, proffering the box of Artisan Vanillekipferl Biscuits he'd bought en route from an exclusive little delicatessen.

"How kind! Thank you. I like to sit out here in the mornings," said the old man. "Don't usually come out 'til around ten though now it's getting a bit colder."

Dempsey had to wonder what this joint was costing when within minutes of seating themselves at one of the green, wrought iron bistro tables with their pretty cream and green leaf print cushions tied to the seats of the chairs, a tray was brought out to them.

Having checked his preference before they came outside, Richard served a small pot of coffee alongside Patrick Makepeace's tea.

"Nice place, Mr Makepeace. A hotel with a heart, huh?"

He got a slightly confused smile and Dempsey thought maybe he wasn't really sure where the hell he was.

"I'm wracking my brains but I can't seem to remember why it was you wanted to see me. Is it about Robert? Is he still causing trouble? I really wouldn't be surprised if that poor girl wants to file charges."

This from the mans' own father! And what was it he thought she might be filing charges over?

"No, Sir. No issue there. There's a delicate financial matter I was hoping to get your thoughts on."

Patrick Makepeace looked surprised. "Financial? I don't follow. Everything has been settled, hasn't it?"

It was at this point that Dempsey started to feel bad about the deception. It wasn't fair. The old guy was just a shell of his former self; the remains of what Harry had told him was a once brilliant, witty, charming and astute person, which was now just rattling around in there like a dried pea in a tin can.

"It's come to my attention that your son might possibly have been withholding information concerning his finances prior to the divorce."

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that."

"I'm not after specifics from you and I realise you wouldn't want to compromise Robert's position but it would seem there's a possibility Mrs Makepeace…" it sounded weird, calling her that but he figured that formal was appropriate, "was entitled to a settlement which she never received."

Although he knew very little about Harry's divorce, he did know she'd walked away without a penny more than she'd gone into the marriage with.

Mr Makepeace looked surprised. "Did she 'need' a settlement?"

Dempsey doubted she'd wanted a bean from the bastard. And even if she'd been struggling with her financial independence, he was pretty sure she'd sooner have asked Freddie for help than go through the courts with Robert.

"More a case of entitlement than actual need, Mr Makepeace. And I personally don't like to be hoodwinked."

"Hmmm. I see."

He took a thoughtful sip from his cup of tea and it seemed to take an age before he placed it back on the saucer, producing a tinkling rattle of bone china. In fact, Dempsey was just beginning to think Mr Makepeace's had totally lost track of the conversation when he said, "I have to say, this doesn't sound like it's coming from Harriet."

There was a cautionary note in his tone. He wasn't for hoodwinking either.

"As my client, I want to see she received a fair settlement so if I'm given to believe that certain financial assets weren't declared at the time, I have an obligation to look a little deeper."

"For which you will receive a modest fee?" Mr Makepeace asked, not unpleasantly.

Dempsey smiled and lowered his eyes in acquiescence as he rested his forearm on the little metal table. "I'm an employee Sir", he said and drank his coffee.

"Yes, I know. Just doing your job." The smile was returned with a salty glaze. "Well, Mr Dempsey, I can tell you that to the best of my knowledge, my son has no hidden assets. He couldn't hang onto anything of value long enough to hide it! And the last item of value divorced him!"

"No nice little investment deal that bought him a Lamborghini?"

"A Lamborghini no less! Is that what you heard?"

"It's what I heard," he confirmed.

"If that were true, he would have been knocking at my door to prove how wrong about him I've been all this time."

"Definitely no windfall then?"

"And certainly no Lamborghini."

Dempsey was inclined to believe the denials. He sensed that this man wasn't capable of guile even though today, unlike their first meeting, there was a great deal more lucidity about him.

"If Harriet is experiencing financial difficulties, I'd be more than happy to offer my support but I know she has a good head on her shoulders so I would find that hard to believe. And I also know Lord Winfield would never see his daughter lacking for anything."

There was a warbled cry from the dayroom causing Dempsey to look towards the French doors. Mr Makepeace didn't bat an eyelid, familiar with the issues of his fellow residents as he was. "So in my book, that leaves only my original thought; that it's simply the machinations of just another greedy lawyer."

"Hey, I'm only anxious to see my client gets what's rightfully hers."

"Oh, Robert owes her alright, I'll give you that," he agreed, "but some things can't be compensated with money."

Dempsey was on full alert. Did Patrick Makepeace know? Did he know about Robert's affair with Harry's best friend; the abortion and the beating he'd given her for it? But Harry had told him nobody knew.

"What 'things', Mr Makepeace?" he pushed, using his gentlest voice.

The old man was gazing out across the lawns, the slight breeze dislodging a carefully combed strand of hair so that it hung lankly above his right ear.

"Things that make me ashamed to call Robert my son."

Dempsey was saddened to see a tear form as the bitter memories surfaced. How cruel that when memories became such a precious commodity, the bad should be awakened along with the good.

"That must be hard for you. Whatever he's done, I guess he's still your child – your flesh and blood."

He wondered if the provocative words would goad him to elaborate.

"Maybe that's what hurts the most, Mr… errm…"

"Dempsey."

"Mr Dempsey. Yes. Where did my wife and I go wrong with him, hmm?"

"You didn't manufacture him. He's his own person, free to make his own choices."

The old man turned to him. "Thank you for that," he said with a serene smile. "You know that quote, with great wealth comes great responsibility?" He waited for Dempsey to nod his confirmation. "It also comes with great power for those who choose to wield it." He wagged a sagacious finger and told him, "He'll never have that kind of power – not of my making anyway."

" _Gonna take a sentimental journey, gonna set my heart at ease…"_

A few notes on a piano heralded the beginning of the song; a clearly elderly yet strong female voice performing the lyrics with practiced ease.

Mr Makepeace's chair scraped backwards and he rose with delight melting the fine wrinkles on his face.

"Ah, Grace!" he beamed. "How lovely!"

He started towards the French doors and Dempsey got up, anxious to detain him.

"Are you talkin' 'bout his inheritance?" he called after him. "D'you mean you disinherited him?"

But Patrick Makepeace had just stepped neatly into a new scene, one that was happy and uncomplicated and required little or no thought.

"Mr Makepeace!" Dempsey called out.

The old man stopped and turned briefly. "You remember Grace, don't you? She and her husband joined us all at Sainte Maxime a couple of years ago."

He faded away as Grace's singing voice drew him towards a happier world.

" _Gonna make a sentimental journey, to renew old memories."_


End file.
